


Black Sheep

by Bloaty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Harry Potter Next Generation, Hogwarts, M/M, Next-Gen, Romance, school boys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-08 10:32:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3206036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloaty/pseuds/Bloaty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scorpius Malfoy wishes someone would notice him. Featuring Hufflepuff!Scorpius, Gryffindor!James, and Slytherin!Albus</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

\- 1 -

 

11 year olds can be very cruel.

 

That’s the last thing Father said when they parted ways on Platform 9 3/4. Father’s grey eyes had looked hauntingly sad and he appeared frightfully pale in the London drizzle, receding into his charcoal suit. Mother, on the other hand, had worn a fashionable long dress and had smiled with her pearly teeth. _Don’t mind the old man_ , she had said as she hugged him cheerfully. You’ll make loads of friends and Hogwarts will be brilliant!

 

But Mother’s smile blends in with all her other smiles, whereas Father’s uncharacteristic sadness seeps into Scorpius’s mind, refusing to be banished. Those turbulent grey eyes, the eyes he had failed to inherit, appear over and over again in Scorpius’s consciousness during moments of paralyzing emptiness, of which they were many.

 

He thought of Father when he sat by himself on the Hogwarts Express, listening to the footsteps racing down the corridor and wondering when someone would at last enter his compartment. No one did, so he sat by himself the entire ride and thought about the Manor--how the trees turned gold and orange in the chilly September air, how he liked to take his tea outside with Mother and Father, how Father would grouse and Mother would laugh and how he would giggle along too while licking cake off his fingers. He ached to be home as he watched the unfamiliar landscape fly by, as he listened in vain for footsteps that would never come his way.

 

He thought of Father when the Sorting Hat enthusiastically shouted Hufflepuff instead of Slytherin and a disappointed hush fell over the Great Hall. As he listened to the echo of his own footsteps and as his skin crawled under the watchful stare of small children, he wondered if Father would be disappointed after all, even though he had said that he wouldn’t mind. A knot of anxiety formed at the pit of his stomach and it tangled and twisted and writhed in his body as he seated himself tentatively by another first year. She looked pretty and kind, a model Hufflepuff by Scorpius’s reckoning. But she offered him only an uncertain smile before turning back to her new friends on her other side and jumping into their conversation. He tried to listen to what they were saying, tried to work out the words that would allow him to become a part of their world, but then the Great Hall erupted into surprised cheers when the Hat sorted Albus Potter into Slytherin, and he couldn’t hear anything at all. He stayed quiet for the rest of dinner, but he continued staring at the girl and her friends with attentive eyes, waiting for a chance that never came. All the while, he tried to remember Mother’s smile when she told him it would get better, but he was only able to conjure Father’s sad eyes.

 

He thinks of Father now in the cold Transfigurations classroom, as his arm begins to tire from dangling in the air. He regrets it, of course, because he could have remained his usual silent self, fading quietly to the background, as he had for the past several weeks. But he was so tired of it, you see, and Mother had taught him that if he wanted to break barriers he’d have to be brave. And why not?  Offering your desk mate a spare quill was ever so easy.

 

Now, if only she would take it.

 

“Well, go on,” he tries again, attempting to smile though his face feels frozen. “I’ve brought extra. Actually, you needn’t even return it. I promise it works just fine...” By the end, his voice fades to a pitiful whisper.

 

Emily doesn’t even look at him; she hides behind a thick curtain of brown curls. Nor does she take his proffered extra quill to rescue his arm from its tiresome dangling. Someone fails to hold in a snicker. Someone else turns away—second hand embarrassment and all that. Scorpius understands; he feels his own cheeks light on fire. But he doesn’t know what to do about the quill or the silent Emily or the snickering classmates so he stands there awkwardly until Professor McGonagal sweeps into the room and asks him what on earth he’s doing. Everyone laughs until she deducts five points from Hufflepuff; then they’re glaring instead and Scorpius stuffs the extra quill back into his bag and sits down and avoids eye contact with everyone for the rest class.

 

No one notices that his light blue eyes look glassier than normal.

 

No one notices anything about him at all.

 

 

 

_Dear Father and Mother,_

_Thank you for your letters and the sweets. I am sorry that it has taken me so long to write back. I have been so busy, you see, and am just now settling in. Hogwarts has been delightful and though I miss you both dreadfully, I have so many friends here to keep me compa_

 

 

Scorpius stops writing at this point, as he always does. Had he had more of a temper or taste for theatrics, he might have ripped the piece of parchment to shreds. But as it were, he merely takes a deep breath and slips the unfinished letter into his nightstand drawer, where it joins a neat stack of similarly unfinished letters. He resolves to finish writing tomorrow.

 

It’s quite late now. Lying on his bed behind heavy curtains, Scorpius can hear the light snores of Ernie and the occasional teeth grinding of Peter. Jonathan is a quiet sleeper, but Scorpius thinks he can hear his even breathing too. Together, the sounds create a jarring cacophony that jabs unpleasantly at Scorpius’s nerves, successfully barring him from slipping into the realm of sleep. His blue eyes stare blindly into the darkness, and despite the presence of three other boys, he feels more alone than he ever did at the Manor.

 

Quietly, he slips out from under the covers and plods softly out the room.

 

 

 

 

He had heard his housemates chatter about how terrifying the school becomes at night. Older students spend their evenings in the common room gleefully recounting fearful tales of ghosts and boggarts and trap doors and of course, the dreaded Filch and his disgusting cat. The other boys in his room had at various points dared one another other to sneak out during the night, but no one actually has, too frightened by their own imaginations if nothing else.

 

Scorpius could have told them that the stories were all lies, if anyone had bothered to ask. He would have told them that actually, the halls were empty more often than not and that the only thing that followed you down the sparsely lit stone paths was your own shadow. Even Filch in his old age had given up patrolling past a certain hour, and Mrs. Norris had mellowed throughout the years. On good nights, like this one, she even lets Scorpius hold her in his arms and pet her soft fur.

 

Scorpius thinks of home as he clings to the furry body of the aging cat. There are no cats at home, but there is Mother, who hugs him when he’s sad; and there is Father, who grumbles at him but who takes him on broomstick rides to cheer him up; and there is Grandma Cissa, who occasionally brings him sweets and there is even Cindy the house elf who does little house elf tricks to bring out his smile. If there’s one advantage to being an only child, it’s that everyone dotes on you. And when you’re wealthy on top of that...

 

But now he’s at Hogwarts and the only one he has is Mrs. Norris. And though he quite likes her, her small body somehow isn’t sufficient to guard him against the chill and overbearing silence of the endless corridor. As he takes one step after another, something swells within him, then snaps, and a first rebelling tear slips out. A second one tumbles forth, followed by a third, and soon enough, he’s sobbing quietly into Mrs. Norris’s fur as she mews in protest.

 

Like that, boy and cat wander through the maze of Hogwarts, Scorpius’s avalanche of tears building and his cries growing louder until they echo down the hallway. Scorpius wonders if anyone will catch him crying. He almost hopes someone does, that someone will stop him and finally, _finally_ , ask him what’s wrong.

 

But he knows, deep down, that no one cares at all, so he cries harder.

 

 

 

 

 

Another step. Another sob. Then suddenly, Scorpius feels someone’s hand on his arm and his heart skips a beat in surprise. He’s yanked into a narrow, hidden crevice in the wall and that hand moves to cover his mouth so that he can no longer make noise.

 

“Shh,” whispers what appears to be an invisible person—or so Scorpius hopes, anyway. “Do you _want_ to be caught by Filch?”

 

With a pounding heart, Scorpius shakes his head furiously, because he doesn’t know what else to do, especially since he still can’t speak. Whoever it is seems satisfied though. The person removes his hand and Scorpius whips around to face the attacker. With wide eyes and tear-blurred vision, Scorpius watches in shock as the familiar face of James Potter materializes out of thin air, and then his whole body too.

 

“Invisibility cloak,” James whispers with a proud grin, when he spots Scorpius’s surprise. “Bloody useful.” Then, as after thought, he adds: “By the way, you _haven’t_ got a cloak, you know, so everyone can see you. Erm. Crying.”

 

Scorpius frowns but says nothing. James looks somewhat embarrassed, maybe at seeing another boy cry, but Scorpius isn’t embarrassed at all—he can cry if he wants. He leaves the tears on his face and stares defiantly at the older student.

 

“Er. I’m James Potter.” James says after the pause drags for a moment too long. “And you’re Scorpius Malfoy, aren’t you? Can tell from the hair, you know, and I think I saw you in the paper once, and you look a bit like your father, only—Oh dear god, is that his demonic cat you’re holding?”

 

James’s sudden screech surprises Scorpius, and Mrs. Norris, too, meows in displeasure, as if she knew what James had said took offense. Scorpius lets out a small sniffle and says quietly, “Mrs. Norris is quite nice. And Filch is probably sleeping, in case you’re worried.” He hugs Mrs. Norris tighter under James’s incredulous stare. “I won’t let you bully her. She’s my friend.”

 

James looks mildly uncomfortable now and he runs his hand through his red tinted hair. “Oh I—er. Sorry. Didn’t mean to offend.” Another pause. Then: “So she’s your friend then? Haven’t got other friends so you have to hang with Mrs. N here? Is that why you've been crying?”

 

As the words tumble out of James’s mouth, Scorpius bites his lower lip and glares as hard as he can from his lower vantage point. There is something absolutely dreadful about having your deepest troubles exposed.

 

But then, James doesn’t sound malicious at all—he’s adopted a rather gentle tone—and now he’s looking at Scorpius with something like pity in his eyes, which does nothing to soothe Scorpius’s ire. And yet his heart beats more frantically in his narrow chest because he thinks finally, _finally_ , somebody’s noticed.

 

“I wouldn’t mind them,” James says softly, when Scorpius doesn’t respond. “I mean, first years are so _awful_ and they believe all sorts of rumors or just whatever their parents tell them. They’re so easily frightened too. Even Al—my brother Albus, you know, the one in Slytherin—even Al’s been having trouble because all the Slytherins are scared of him after reading that silly Daily Prophet article. And really, Hufflepuffs must be the worst of all, because they’re so silly they can barely think for themselves and—oh, sorry, I don’t mean you. Er. Anyway. I think you’re alright, even if you’re a Malfoy. Or no. I mean. You’re alright.”

 

James finishes rather lamely and he gives Scorpius a sheepish smile. Scorpius doesn’t return it. He merely hugs Mrs. Norris closer. But James might or might not have caught sight of his trembling lower lip, because the older boy smiles wider before he reaches into the bag he’s been carrying all along and pulls out a slightly smushed pumpkin pastry.

 

“Here,” he says, thrusting it in Scorpius’s hand. “I’m no good at talking about these things, I know that. Lily cries all the time and I can’t do anything about it, but she usually feels better after she gets a treat. I mean, not that she’s like a pet or anything, just that—oh, anyway. Here, for you, I just stole it from the kitchen. That’s why I was out, you know. Do try it—it’s rather delicious. And you should get back to bed before Filch—well, before you run into a boggart then. I’ll see you around.”

 

James speaks so quickly by the end that his words are practically running into each other. His freckled face looks suspiciously red. And as abruptly, as their conversation had begun, it ended with James turning on his heal and stalking towards Gryffindor tower with only a quick wave backwards.

 

Soon, all that’s left in the hidden corner of the wall is Scorpius, holding a pumpkin pastry in his right hand and cradling Mrs. Norris in his left arm. He watches curiously as James Potter disappears under his cloak.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Scorpius takes James’s advice and heads back to bed. He lays there in the dark, listening to the rhythmic sounds his sleeping roommates make. It’s like every other night, only he feels so different. Instead of Father’s sad face, he falls asleep replaying his encounter with James Potter over and over again, dreaming of all the things he could have said.


	2. Chapter 2

\- 2 -

 

 

Life isn’t a fairytale—Hogwarts is rather too gothic—so Scorpius doesn’t get around to befriending James Potter for quite some time, though not for lack of trying on his part. He never manages to scrounge up the courage to approach James in person (there are ever so many pairs of watchful eyes) but he does stare at the other boy ceaselessly at every opportunity, hoping to catch his eye. In fact, he almost doesn’t blink, for fear that he’d miss his chance, miss some flicker of recognition, some minuscule sign that could reaffirm the fact that they  _had_  actually met and chatted and it wasn’t all a dream. 

But James is a Gryffindor and a second year and nice and therefore universally well-liked, which means that his friends and relatives and teammates and hordes of adoring first years constantly buzz around him like a swarm of bees. Scorpius never even gets a chance. Rather, he finishes his meals alone with painfully dry eyes and an even more painful sense of disappointment.

At night, Scorpius continues wandering the empty corridors, hoping for another run-in. James _must_ be sneaking around somewhere, Scorpius figures, and he’s prepared now, he likes to think. He rehearses various iterations of how it might play out, at times adopting a wry witticism like Father, at times all charming dimpled smiles like Mother, and at times shy and quiet just like himself.

But they somehow miss each other, or maybe James just chooses to never reveal himself (though Scorpius tries not to think that); all his rehearsed scenarios are whispered into the furry ears of old Mrs. Norris, and the memory of that night in September slowly begins to fade, overtaken and transformed by Scorpius’s empty imaginings.

So no James.

No, Scorpius’s first Hogwarts friend, if one could call him that, turns out to be a different Potter entirely.

 

~~

 

It’s late October when Hufflepuff is scheduled for Potions with Slytherin. By then, the first years have already begun to settle in, adopting familiar routines and forming lifelong friendships. Scorpius doesn’t manage the latter, but he too has adopted a routine. It mostly consists of blearily attending classes during the day and wandering the halls late at night and napping on worn couches in between. He supposes it’s a tolerable schedule; almost like his life at the Manor, except no Mother and Father. Maybe that’s what it means to grow up.

 

~~

 

He sits by himself in Potions, staring blankly ahead as Professor Slughorn begins his lecture. He tries hard to listen--he always does--but he’s pants at Potions (much to Father’s chagrin) and he invariably loses his concentration. When Slughorn declares it time to begin the brewing portion of class, Scorpius blinks awake only from the sound of moving desks and scampering feet.

Scorpius watches all the commotion for a few seconds with sleep-blurred eyes before it finally clicks that Slughorn had deviated from his usual assigning of partners and had permitted everyone to find a friend. Jonathan, Scorpius’s usual partner, had summarily abandoned him for Ernie and is now glancing at him with some measure of apology, though clearly not apologetic enough to take him back.

A flash a panic hits Scorpius. Even though he’s “used to it” by now, there’s something powerfully distressing about being left alone and he can feel his pale skin burn from humiliation. He tries to school his face into one of indifference, but he knows he’s failing from the mixed looks scorn, glee, and pity on his housemate’s faces. The seconds tick by. His mind remains blank.

 “Mister Malfoy.” Slughorn’s impatient voice cuts sharply into Scorpius’s panic-induced trance. He stares at the plump professor, shamefaced, but Slughorn plunges on before he can explain his partner-less state.

“Kindly join Mister Potter here at the front, we don’t have all day.”

Scorpius blinks in confusion. He looks to the front and notices for the first time another boy standing by himself. Ah, that’s right. Albus Severus Potter. The first year Slytherin looks like a miniature version of the Savior himself, all messy black hair and defiant green eyes. He catches Scorpius's gaze and quirks a brow. Scorpius is duly taken aback.

“ _Mister Malfoy_ ,” Slughorn repeats, louder. Scorpius jumps again, but this time, he follows up by packing his supplies and scampering to the front, trying his best to ignore the stifled laughter that follows him.

As he settles down at his new seat and as the other students are diverted to gathering their ingredients, Scorpius turns to Albus Potter and tentatively reaches out a small, pale hand. “Hullo. I’m Scorpius Malfoy.”

Scorpius waits for a response; he’s used to it. Sometimes there’s no response. The younger Potter puts in moderately more effort than that though; he sweeps a dismissive gaze over Scorpius’s hand before tossing out a nonchalant, “Al Potter. But you already know that, don’t you?” Then he’s turned away, already walking towards the supply cabinet. “Come along, let’s get our ingredients.”

 

~~

 

“So Malfoy, are you any good at Potions, or ...”

Scorpius pauses in his chopping of the salamander tail to peer at Albus, who’s been standing by idly since they’d begun the preparation process, not that Scorpius minds. He thinks it rather kind of Albus to not throw a ruckus about having to work with him, which Jonathan certainly had when they’d first been assigned as partners. And if Albus is anything like James, then maybe ... Scorpius smiles hesitantly and asks, “Or?”

“Or are you absolute shit at it like all Hufflepuffs?” Albus finishes with a smirk. “Wait, don’t answer that. I can already tell from the way you chop. All your bits are uneven, can’t you see?”

Completely taken aback, Scorpius lets Albus pull the knife from his hand without struggle.

“Oh don’t look like that. It’s just that I thought you might be good at this, but I would rather hate for our cauldron to explode,” Albus continues blithely as he begins to slice through the salamander with a confidence and efficiency that Scorpius never possessed. “This whole  _partnership_  is sordid enough without that, wouldn’t you agree?”

Scorpius’s hands hang helplessly by his side as he watches Albus stir the brew expertly. He wants to retaliate, but he’s too embarrassed because it’s all, well, _true_ , so he settles for a timid, half-apologetic “um.”

“Um? That’s all you’ve got to say then?” Albus lifts a brow—he seems an expert at that, the whole sardonic thing—“Pass the vanilla, please, thanks. You know, I would’ve thought a Malfoy would be a more capable conversationalist. And more... _sinister_ , I suppose. That’s what Uncle Ron predicted about you. But then, I suppose there’s a reason you’re in Hufflepuff. Along with being shit at Potions, I mean.”

Scorpius recovers enough to frown at this. “I-it’s not—I mean, I wish you wouldn’t. Hufflepuff really isn’t as bad as you seem to think—”

“Oh and Hufflepuff rears its head again!” Albus interrupts, cracking a smile toward Scorpius, though Scorpius misses the humor. “Defending your house even though your housemates all clearly hate you? You must be the most Hufflepuff of them all!”

“I-What?”

“Oh come on now, it’s no secret. They don’t talk to you, do they? They all run from you as quick as they can, don’t they? I saw how fast Jonathan Surrey sprinted away. And yet still you defend them? Aren’t you the loyal little fool?”

Scorpius feels a familiar burn on his cheeks. He bends forward slightly so that his silvery golden fringe falls over his blue eyes, obscuring them. The last thing he wanted was for Albus Potter to spot his emotions. “You needn’t be so mean about it,” he whispers.

“ _Mean?_ ” Albus laughs quietly. “I rather thought I was being kind. I’m working with you, aren’t I?”

Scorpius bites his lower lips. He forgets that he had possessed a similar thought just moments before. The words tumble out before he can censor himself. “Well, it’s not like you have friends either so I guess that makes us even.”

Albus stops stirring. “What did you say?”

Scorpius doesn’t respond. He stares resolutely at the ground, even though he can feel Albus’s green eyes glowering at him, piercing his translucent skin with their blazing fury.

“That isn’t really what you think is it?” Albus’s voice is dangerously quiet. “That we’re the same?”

“Well, why else would you be alone then?” Scorpius retorts.

“You listen now, Scorpius Malfoy. My housemates don’t _hate_ me, as yours do you. They don’t hate me because my father was a hero and not a bloody _death eater_ like yours.” Scorpius’s head whips up but Albus doesn’t even give him the chance. “And my housemates, if anything, _fear me_ , only because they know I possess powers that they could only dream of.” Albus’s emerald eyes glitter brightly as he whispers all this to Scorpius, his lips curled into a malicious little grin.

Scorpius’s heart thuds powerfully against his ribcage. “What are you talking about?”

 “Don’t you read the newspapers, Malfoy? Or hasn’t anyone told you—ah, but you haven’t anyone to talk to, have you? Because you’re death eater spawn _and_ a Hufflepuff on top of all that. Completely. Utterly. Useless.” 

Scorpius’s hands curl into a shaking fist beneath his robes and he glares at Albus, who smirks back insolently, a dare in his eyes.

“Albus Severus Potter, you’re a real git—”

“—Mister Malfoy, how are we progressing?”

Scorpius starts in surprise as he feels Slughorn’s hand on his shoulder. He sees Albus’s smirk grow and knows he’s been played. Through clenched teeth, he murmurs a deferential, “Professor.”

 Albus stifles a laugh and smiles innocently at Slughorn. “Professor, I believe we’ve finished.”

“Ah, yes, it’s turned that beautiful shade of gold. Well-done, Mister Potter,” Slughorn beams. “As expected from the son of Harry Potter himself. Excellent job.” Then, turning towards Scorpius, he adds drily,” Mister Malfoy, you might try to learn something from your partner.”

“Yes sir...”

And with that, Slughorn glides to the front of the room and announces that class is over. Scorpius turns to Albus with ready words, but settles for a glacial glare when he spots Albus’s expectant grin. He won’t dignify him with anything more.

 “That went rather well, Malfoy, don’t you think?” Albus chats light-heartedly as they flow out the room. It’s almost as if he’s forgotten their earlier conversation, as if they were long-time friends. Scorpius’s hand on his bookbag strap tightens and his pale knuckles turn pink from the pressure.

“Say, I must be your first competent partner in Potions, no? It’s alright, you don’t have to thank me, but I suppose it would be the polite thing to do—”

 “—Albus Severus Potter,” Scorpius seethes, whipping around and staring straight into Albus’s surprised eyes. “You’re a complete _arsehole,_ is what you are.” Scorpius almost feels satisfaction at the way Albus’s green orbs enlarge and the way his lips curl into a frown, but he has more to offer. “And you aren’t _anything_ like your brother. You can’t even hold a candle to James Potter.”

For a moment, Albus looks like he’s had the wind knocked out of him, but he’s back in a second and he looks more furious than Scorpius’s ever seen him—or anyone really. He grabs Scorpius by the tie and pulls him so that they’re face to face and his narrowed eyes can bore into Scorpius’s soul. “Don’t _ever_ compare me to my brother again.”

 

Scorpius watches breathlessly and with wide eyes as Albus pushes past a throng of Hufflepuffs and stomps out the room.

 

~~

 

It’s not until after dinner that Scorpius gets a chance to run to the library. He quickly locates stacks of old Daily Prophets, which he’d never bothered to read before, because Father harbored an intense antagonism towards newspapers and it was never delivered to the Manor.

Flipping through methodically, he finally happens upon one where the front page showcases a large photo of Albus Potter with the breathtaking headline: “Albus Severus Potter: A Dark Wizard?”

_It has recently been disclosed through reliable sources that Albus Severus Potter, younger son of Harry Potter, possesses the ability to speak Parseltongue. Albus Potter ostensibly inherited this ability from Harry Potter himself, but it is without dispute that Harry Potter had acquired his ability from contact with Voldemort and had lost it after destroying the Dark Lord. It may be surmised that Parseltongue is a skill particular to dark wizards. Could Albus Potter’s possession of such skill be indicative of his own inclination towards dark magic? Could remains of Voldemort’s powers have descended through Harry Potter to his son? As a further point of suspicion, the younger Potter has recently enrolled at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry and has been sorted into the house of Slytherin, a house that has been associated with producing numerous dark wizards in recent years . . ._

Scorpius’s eyes widen as they skim the lines of ink.

 

 _And my housemates, if anything,_ fear me _, only because they know I possess powers that they could only dream of._

 

Well, that much was truth. But there was also a lie. If children scorn Scorpius because his father had been a death eater, then they avoid Albus because they fear he _is_ the embodiment of dark magic. So no, Albus Potter isn’t any better off, really, despite what he’d like to believe.

 

Scorpius’s gaze softens as it lands on the picture of Albus, taking up half the page of the Prophet. He bears so little resemblance to the malicious boy in Potions, minus the eyes that blazed as defiantly as ever. But he looks as frantic as any child cornered by the media, hands reaching up to shield his face and body contorting ever smaller to minimize exposure. Scorpius feels rather sorry for him, and it takes him a moment before he remembers his frustration with that stupid, slandering git. 

 

A glimmer of a rueful smile hovers at his lips. He supposes Albus was right in more ways than one—he is rather a Hufflepuff, isn’t he?

 


	3. 3

\- 3 -

 

            A long time ago, when Scorpius was still a child who clung to his father’s hand, he made a visit to Diagon Valley. It had been a sunny day at the beginning of summer, when England had just begun to warm up, and a light breeze ruffled at the rose petals in the garden. Maybe Father had been lulled into a false sense of security— _what could go wrong a day like that_? Or maybe the weather had swept in a wave of nostalgia, that yearning for simpler times of boyhood, when he could run down cobblestone streets and wreak havoc with his friends without a care in the world, confident that _his_ fathercould settle all his problems. Or maybe he just needed to browse at the apothecary. Whatever his motives, Draco Malfoy had succumbed to his son’s wide-eyed pleas with an indulgent if exasperated smile on his thin lips and had tugged the boy along for an impromptu trip.

            Young Scorpius found wizarding London every bit as fascinating as he had always imagined. His light blue eyes roamed the windows of dingy shops that lined its old streets with breathless wonder, Eyelop’s Owl Emporium being a personal favorite. And for a boy who’s been sequestered in an old Mansion for most his life, the witches and wizards of Diagon Alley were endlessly captivating. The weather made it all the lovelier, and Father looked more excited than he’s looked in years.

            Then it all went wrong. Someone noticed them. Maybe it was their hair, or the quality of their robes, or the way they carried themselves. There were whispers. _Is that? Are they? Surely they wouldn’t dare? But the hair, and that face—_ And soon, wherever Scorpius turned his head, the witches and wizards stared back. Father held his hand tighter.

            A light flashed. A reporter jumped out of nowhere. _Mister Malfoy, I presume? Where have you been all these years? Is this your son? Do you still carry the mark? Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Malfoy!_

The crowd expanded, jostled, jeered. Scorpius clutched at Father’s robes with his tiny fingers. When he looked up, he saw that Father’s face was no longer smiling and he heard him mutter under his breath that people never change and he was a fool for thinking they would.

            Then a plop, followed by dizziness, and they tumbled back into the garden. The day was still beautiful, the roses as vibrant as ever; only the people had changed. Mother fluttered helplessly, her usual cheer smothered by Father, who stomped past her in a fit of rage. Scorpius cried.

 

            Late at night, Scorpius snuggled next to Father in bed. Father was full of apologies and regrets— _No, I wasn’t angry at you at all! Never._

            _Not even when I dropped my bowl of pudding on your best robes?_

 _Well._ A wry smile. _That’s rather different._

            “But Scorpius, listen carefully,” said Father in his serious voice, “I made many mistakes when I was younger. That’s why those wizards were mad at me-us-today.”

            It was hard to imagine Father making mistakes, but Father insisted that he did: “They were terrible mistakes. So terrible that other witches and wizards might never forgive me, and that would only be what I deserve. But you, Scorpius, you don’t deserve any of that, because you haven’t done anything wrong. Yet still, they might not give you a chance either.”

            Scorpius didn’t understand. That seemed unfair.

            “It is, isn’t it?” Father agreed with a sad smile, the same one that Scorpius would see again many years later, on Platform 9 3/4. “But we can’t help what others think. We can only be try to be fair ourselves and try to forgive others. Maybe only then will others learn to forgive us.”

            Whatever did that mean? He was too tired to figure it out, but as long as Father wasn’t angry with him, everything seemed all right. And the next day, the weather was fair again and Mother was full of smiles and Father took him flying. The only difference was that the Daily Prophet never appeared at the breakfast table again, but Scorpius wasn’t too disturbed by that.

 

 

~~

 

 

The next time Hufflepuff has potions with Slytherin, Scorpius takes a deep breath and plunges to the front of the room before Jonathan has the opportunity to sprint away.

Albus Potter stares at him in shock, and Scorpius feels ridiculously proud of himself, even though his hands are trembling from nerves. “Hello Al.”

            “Malfoy. What do you want?”

            “Er. I. I thought we’d work together again. Because it went so well last time.”

            “Did it now?” Albus’s narrowed green eyes hint at suspicion and disbelief. “So well that you concluded that I was a _complete arsehole_?”

            “Um. Yes well, about that.” Scorpius smiles nervously as he dithers. “Well, you are. But you’re rather good at potions. Now, shall I get the supplies or will you? Everyone else’s found partners already, you see. So I think we’re stuck together after all.”

            Scorpius is grateful that looks can’t actually kill.

 

            “You wish to use me?

            “What’s that?”

Their roles had reserved. Albus, evidently having acquired a better understanding of Scorpius’s potions skills, or lack thereof, had taken the reigns from the start, shooing Scorpius to the sidelines. Scorpius contends himself with reading the instructions out loud while Albus prepares the ingredients. It’s all rather harmonious, if one ignores the wary glances Albus throws at Scorpius every so often.

            “You’ve latched onto me because you’ve realized how appalling your potions skills are and how amazing mine are. And you’re using me to obtain a better grade for yourself.”

            Scorpius rolls his eyes. “Can you be any more Slytherin, Al Potter? Here, let me stir, I can do that much.”

            But Albus stops him before his wand swirls too far in the bubbling liquid.

            “ _Counter_ clockwise, Malfoy,” Albus snaps. “Don’t you know what that means?”

            “Oh,” Scorpius blinks innocently. “Missed that.”

            Albus mimics the deep sighs of exasperation he’s picked up from the various adults in his life. Scorpius refrains from telling him that it makes him sound silly. Instead, he asserts, “I’m not using you. I promise.”

            Albus raises a brow: “I beg to differ—”

            “— _Really!_ I just thought this would be good for both of us. I mean, no one wants to work with us anyway—”

            “—For different reasons, obviously—”

            “—For _whatever_ reason. So we might as well work together.” A pause. “And you _are_ good at potions. We can easily advance to the top of the class! That’ll show them, don’t you think?”

            Albus looks less impressed than Scorpius had hoped.

“Malfoy, that’s exactly my point. I can advance to the top of class with or without your help. What’s in it for me?”

            “Erm. My company?” Scorpius offers with a tentative smile.

            Albus snorts, but Scorpius ignores that.

            “Anyway, I think it’s silly that people avoid you just because you speak to snakes. I find it rather cool...” Scorpius trails into silence. Albus has stopped stirring. His thin lips are pressed into a tight line and rare spots of color appear high on his cheeks. Scorpius realizes he’s said the wrong thing. He also realizes it’s too late.

            “You pity me,” Albus states coldly. 

            “No, that’s not it at all—” Scorpius rushes to say, but Albus doesn’t allow him the chance.

            “—Don’t _disgust_ me, Malfoy. As if I’d ever want pity from the _likes of you_.”

            Scorpius blinks several times as he processes Albus’s words, and when he does, he’s angry too and he’s sure that he’s never wanted to kick someone so much in his life.

“Albus Potter, you’re impossible, you know that!” he barks People _are_ fools for disliking you just because you know parseltongue. They’re fools because there are _so many other, better reasons_ to dislike you, like the fact that you’re a completely insufferable prick—”

            “—Ahem!”

            Scorpius starts. “—Professor.”

            Scorpius offers a weak smile at Slughorn’s raised brow. Albus says nothing, only moving aside so the professor could observe their bubbling cauldron.

            “Ah yes,” Slughorn murmurs, “Excellent as always.” He peers doubtfully at Scorpius. “Perhaps next time, Mister Malfoy might wish to contribute more. Your exams are taken independently, you know.”

            Scorpius airs out a few dry chuckles and scowls swiftly at Albus after Slughorn glides away. Albus smirks.

            “Mind the Professor’s words, _Mister Malfoy_.”

            “Oh shut up,” Scorpius snaps irritably. “I’m sorry I attempted to work with you at all.” He thinks to himself about how wrong Father was. Some people don’t deserve fairness or forgiveness.

            “Right you are,” Albus replies. His green eyes twinkle with a rare, genuine mirth, but Scorpius misses it. “But I suppose you could continue working with me, until I tire of you. You’re rather amusing, if nothing else.”

            “Albus Potter, who do you think you—”

            “—But I don’t need your pity. And we aren’t friends, and never will be,” Albus says resolutely. Scorpius glares and mutters under his breath, “That’s my line.”

 

 

~~

 

 

“It’s rather cold tonight, don’t you think, Mrs. N?” Scorpius shivers under his woolen cloak and hugs the old cat closer. “Then again, it is already November. I’ll get to see Father and Mother again soon,” he muses. “Only, I wonder if everything will be the same? And what shall I tell them about Hogwarts? Surely they’ll complain that I haven’t written frequently enough—who’s there?”

“Talking to yourself now, Malfoy?”

Scorpius groans quietly after he quells his disappointment. Wrong Potter, as always, though he has all but given up on a run-in with James.

“What are you even doing here at this hour, Al?”

Albus shrugs and catches up to him. “You’re not the only one allowed to roam the halls. I’m hungry. Also, don’t call me that, Malfoy.”

“Don’t call you what, _Al_?” Scorpius asks petulantly. He only quavers slightly when Albus fastens his intense green eyes upon him; Scorpius considers this a triumph.

But Al only repeats: “We’re not friends.”

“Obviously.”

Their words lack in malice but neither points that out.

“Aren’t you afraid of getting caught by Filch?” Scorpius asks after a moment’s pause. “Why didn’t you borrow your brother’s cloak?”

“Please. As if I need to borrow anything from my dimwitted brother. No one wanders these halls at this hour except you.”

“Hey, James isn’t—wait a minute. How’d you know that?”

“Know what?”

“That I’d be the only one out here? Everyone thinks Filch is still up and monitoring, or the prefects, or the ghosts—” Scorpius peers at Albus suspiciously.

“—I have a special ma...special _ability_ , as you know. I ask the snakes.”

Albus dons a crooked smile. A shiver runs down Scorpius’s spine; he finds the smile rather sinister.

“And they know...the snakes, that is...they tell you where everyone is?”

“Sure. They tell me _everything_.” The smile grows. “Better watch your back, Malfoy.”

By the time Scorpius finds out about the Marauder’s Map, it’s years later and this conversation has long been forgotten.

But for the moment, he quiets down and studies his surroundings with a mix of skepticism and fear, because _what if it’s true_? You can never tell with Albus Potter, he thinks. The two boys walk side by side in distrustful silence.

But as the silence grows, Scorpius slowly comes to realize that it’s not as uncomfortable as he would have imagined. Or at least, it’s marginally better than when they’re arguing; a silent Albus is a more tolerable Albus. He’s almost sorry when the silence is broken upon their entering the kitchen. A million house elves stop mid-motion and bustle over, squealing after _Master Potter_.

“At least you’re popular with the house elves,” Scorpius grumbles after they seat themselves before a table stacked high with food.

“It’s because I look like my father,” Albus mumbles nonchalantly.

“Hmm.” Scorpius helps himself to a pumpkin pastry, which reminds him of James. “You don’t look anything like your brother though.”

“James takes after Mum,” Albus replies shortly. “And how do you eat that? They’re disgusting. Only fools like James eats those.”

“They’re not!” Scorpius retorts defensively. “Quite good, actually. If a bit sweet.”

Albus grimaces. “Then you’re a fool too.”

Scorpius frowns and takes another bite of his pastry, making sure to exaggerate his delight as he chews. Albus resists the bait and bites into a piece of plain toast.

“Why don’t you like James anyway? Everyone else likes him. Even Rose Weaseley, and she thinks _everyone’s_ beneath her.”

“They’re all fools,” is Albus’s answer. He says it with a roll of his eyes, as if this should be readily apparent. “Especially Rose. Anyway, why do you keep talking about him?”

“I think he’s nice, that’s all.”

“...Is that so? Then you’re no different from everyone else.”

            Albus’s gaze has turned glacial again and Scorpius shifts uncomfortably. He decides that, though he does like James, he’d refrain from mentioning it. Suffering Albus’s ire more than strictly necessary seems an unappealing prospect.

           

“You know,” Scorpius ventures after an uncomfortable pause, “this is the first time I’ve eaten with someone.”

            Albus eyes him skeptically. “What? You mean to say you’ve never eaten with anyone?”

            “Well, not...I mean, of course I’ve eaten with others. But this is the first time I’ve eaten with someone I know who isn’t Mother or Father or Grandma Cissa,” Scorpius explains. “And who’s my own age, that is. And who isn’t Hufflepuff, though I don’t really know them, so I guess they don’t count.”

            He would’ve preferred to say that it’s the first time he’s eaten with a friend his own age, but he remembers that they aren’t friends at all.

            “Anyway, it’s nice,” he finishes.

            “Is it?” Albus queries. His eyes wander as he thinks about Scorpius’s declaration for a moment. “I’ve always wanted to eat alone.”

            Scorpius has to fight a scowl from his face. “Is that so? Shall I just leave then?”

            “No, I mean...” Albus hesitates. “Sometimes it’s a luxury, you know,” he clarifies, slowly, as if reaching for elusive words. “To not have to be one among many, that is. You’re always...you always wonder if someone might forget about you. That’s all I meant. It must be nice, to be an only child.”

            Scorpius blinks. It’s a strange proposition. In fact, he’s always wanted a brother, maybe one like James. Albus takes in Scorpius’s blank stare and says, “Never mind. You wouldn’t understand.”

He gets up from the seat, stretches, and walks towards the door. “I like to eat by the statue of Artemis in the side courtyard. It’s quieter there than in the Great Hall.”

            He strolls out leisurely and leaves Scorpius to gape after him.

            “What in the world...? Do you suppose that was an invitation to eat with him?”

            Mrs. Norris mews daintily with a yawn.

 

 

~~

 

 

The rest of the term, all one and a half month of it, passes by quickly. It takes Scorpius a week to find the statue Albus refers to, and though Albus insists that _no, you were never invited_ , Scorpius decides that it’s a rather nice spot, even if it’s a bit cold. And anyway, he doesn’t really believe Albus, because he knows that Albus makes sure to cast a warming charm that covers them both. ( _Really, Malfoy, not even a basic warming charm? Are you actually a squib? How are you terrible at_ everything _?_ )

Scorpius’s marks improve after he gives up wandering the halls at night. (Albus tries to take credit for his higher potions marks, and Scorpius lets him have it because after all, it’s mostly true.) Tthe other Hufflepuffs no longer glance at Scorpius with suspicion, having come to the conclusion that he’s relatively harmless, though none of has approached him yet. He supposes that’s alright, since he’s now successfully made a non-friend.

Soon enough, they’ve clambered back aboard the Hogwarts Express and were rollicking back to London.

They’re almost at the station and Scorpius has just bitten into his third chocolate frog—Father doesn’t let him have any at home, he explains to a skeptical and slightly put-off Albus—when the door to their compartment slides open and in walks James Potter.

“Hullo, little brother,” the elder Potter says cheerfully and he plops down besides the younger. Then, with a smile to Scorpius, “And hello, Scorpius.”

Scorpius blinks in surprise. The easy grin, the friendly brown eyes, the mere acknowledgement—all things Scorpius had craved so exigently just weeks before. But it’s December now; his encounter with James Potter had faded to a dim memory, and his thoughts are fully occupied by the things he could’ve or should’ve said in retort to mean Albus. That James Potter would suddenly appear on the last minutes of the last day of the term is completely unexpected. An embarrassed blush spreads over his pale skin as he struggles to swallow his mouthful of sticky chocolate. “Hello...James.”

            Al is less enthused. He doesn’t look at James at all, instead electing to stare out the window. “What do you want?” he asks sullenly.

            “Can’t I come say hi?”

            “Haven’t all term. Why start now?”

            James frowns but looks a bit guilty. “It’s not that I didn’t want—I just thought you’d like...some space. That’s all. That you’d be embarrassed to be seen with your older brother all the time, you know? I’m sorry you’ve had a hard time with the Slytherins.”

            Al shrugs. “Okay.”

            Scorpius glances between the two brothers; he thinks he can touch the tension--it’s so tangible—and he’s thankful when the train finally slows to a stop. He lurches quickly to his feet and grabs his trunks, waiting for the Potters to do the same.

            Albus stands leisurely and follows Scorpius’s leads. To James, he says: “Won’t you get my trunks, Jamie? It’ll show Mum and Dad what a wonderful boy you are.”

            James frowns again, but smiles when he catches Scorpius looking at him. “It’s alright, I’ll just shrink them. I don’t mind at all.”

            Scorpius isn’t sure what to say so he waits patiently and walks out with James. As they amble along the corridor—Albus having made his escaped first—James turns to Scorpius and says, “Hey, thanks for...you know. Being with Albus.”

            Scorpius makes a face and James laughs. “Yeah, I know. He’s pretty difficult, and we don’t always get along at home. But I think he likes you. Or he tolerates you more than he tolerates most people.”

            “Oh.”

            Then they’re on the platform.

 

 

            The platform bustles with people, as always. Eager parents scoop up young children and shed tears of joy; friends bid each other goodbye and happy holidays. Scorpius spots Father and Mother’s bright hair and his heart swells with excitement. He runs to their side and is happily swept into Father’s arms. He realizes with some measure of relief that nothing’s changed at all.

            It’s only after Mother finishes showering him with kisses that he remembers Albus. But by then, Albus is already walking away with his own large family. He straggles behind the other children, who crowd around the Weaseley adults all clamoring for attention, and walks silently alongside Harry Potter. The Savior looks tired and frazzled, but Scorpius can see him smiling down at Albus even from the distance. Albus seems to sense Scorpius’s stare and he stares back with his usual crooked smile that appears just slightly sinister. Scorpius rolls his eyes and gives him a wave.

            He then catches sight of James waving at him from the corner of his eye, so he waves back with a pleased smile, though he’s slightly unsettled when he sees Mrs. Potter purse her lips in an expression of distrust. He feels Father’s hand on his shoulder tighten as he gives a small nod of acknowledgement to Mr. Potter, who nods back just as tersely.

            Then they’re off to the Manor—Father, Mother, and himself—and Scorpius couldn’t be happier. He’s already thinking of the terrible presents he can mail to Albus.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

The new term starts in the midst of a howling blizzard. The Hufflepuff common room is unusually crowded as a result, but Scorpius manages to secure his usual spot, which, due to its obscure position far from the fire, tends to be less coveted. He’s lost in an enticing muggle novel Al sent him ( _Murder on the Orient Express_ ) when a short cough draws his attention back to the present. It takes him a moment to focus his bleary sight on a head of glossy brunette curls.

 

“Emily?”

 

“Scorpius.”

 

A pale pink dusts over Emily Ramsey’s olive cheeks. She looks distinctly uncomfortable, but her dark eyes blaze with determination. Scorpius tilts his head and watches the girl with puzzled apprehension.

 

“I’d like to apologize,” she says finally, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I was mean last term and I—well, I have Muggle parents, you see, and everyone warned me that you—your family—and I believed them because I didn’t know better, and—no, wait, I know that’s no excuse. At all. I talked to Mum over the hols about this and I realized that I’ve been terrible, and I’m sorry!”

 

Scorpius blinks. Emily looks like she’s worried to death and about to burst into tears. Her loud apology has drawn everyone’s attention and the common room stills into anxious silence as everyone watches the two with bated breath.

 

Slowly, Scorpius’s lips curve into a small smile.

 

“That’s all right,” he says quietly.

 

“Really? You aren’t mad? Oh, thank goodness!” Emily lets out the breath she’s been holding and her face lights up with a wide grin. “I knew you’d understand—See?” she exclaims, turning to the room’s other inhabitants. “Didn’t I tell you guys! He’s perfectly—he’s wonderful!” She turns back. “I’m so sorry, Scorpius. Again. It was rather—I mean, I wasn’t a very good Hufflepuff at all! Do you think we could be friends?”

 

“Absolutely,” says Scorpius with a look of wonder. He thinks that his own face must be as bright as Emily’s.

 

The term is off to a good, if surprising, start.

 

~~

 

Scorpius finds Albus under the statue of Artemis two weeks later. He knows he should’ve looked sooner, but it was so easy to get roped into miscellaneous ventures—homework sessions, impromptu broom races, afternoon tea parties in the common room—that he’s put it off until now.

 

He glides quietly up to Albus with an abrupt, _Aren’t you cold_ _?_ and laughs when Albus tenses in surprise. “No need to be so jumpy—it’s just me. Did you miss me?”

 

Albus shrugs after he adjusts to Scorpius’s sudden appearance. “Not really.”

 

Scorpius’s smile falters just slightly. He plops down next to Albus and tries not to feel disappointed when the other boy tenses again. He can feel him inching away. Scorpius goes for another smile, but it’s a poor imitation at best. “Well, I’ve missed you, believe it or not,” he offers.

 

Albus hums noncommittally.

 

“And...and thanks for the gift, by the way. The novels are surprisingly good, for a Muggle author. Even Father enjoys them.”

 

This catches Albus’s attention and he furrows his brows a bit, almost despite himself. “Even your father? Draco Malfoy?”

 

“Oh yes! Well, not openly, of course,” Scorpius replies, pleased that Albus is speaking to him again. “But Mother was rather cross with him when he stayed up to read them in private. Did you send them because you thought Father would be angry? And here I thought it was because you saw that I liked the Wizard’s Detective Agency series.”

 

Albus banishes all expression from his face and shrugs. “I got them for you because I knew your pea-sized brain couldn’t handle any real literature.”

 

Scorpius frowns at the slight, but then brightens again when he recalls his own gift to Albus. “Say, how’s Tess?” he asks. “Do you like her?”

 

“Tess?” Albus looks momentarily confused before he, too, remembers Tess. Scorpius sees a tic at the corner of his lips—the beginnings of a smile, perhaps? He’s hopeful. “Malfoy, hasn’t anyone taught you that baby peacocks aren’t appropriate Christmas gifts? Mum was absolutely livid.”

 

Scorpius bursts into peals of laughter. “Oh, it was Father’s suggestion,” he explains. “The manor’s overrun by peacocks, you know, so we’ve been trying to fob them off to others for years, and Father thought your father might enjoy one.”

 

“Well,” Albus concedes with a wry smile, “Dad was rather amused. Though less so when Tess started squawking at odd hours. And then not at all when she tore some of his files to strips.”

 

Scorpius laughs again, despite the tiny prick of guilt he feels towards poor Mister Potter. A brief silence settles over the pair as Scorpius recovers himself. The storm’s calmed—puffs of snow drift about harmlessly—but it’s still cold. Scorpius shivers just a bit and realizes with another bout of disappointment that Albus has forgotten to cast a warming charm over him.

 

“Al, I haven’t seen you around,” he says after a moment.

 

Al looks away, to his chagrin. “You know where to find me, obviously.”

 

“Well yes, but, I haven’t...I mean, we haven’t spoken in class, or at the library, you know. I almost feel as if you might be...you might not want to see me.”

 

Al glances at him quickly and Scorpius sees a flash of accusation before the other boy looks away again. “You seem to have enough people flocking about you nowadays. I hardly thought you’d miss me.”

 

Scorpius bites his lower lip and struggles to form an excuse. Because it’s partially true—there’s Emily now, and Emily’s brought along other friends—and he’s no longer so alone. But Al—Al’s different; he’s—

 

“It’s alright,” Al says with a humorless smile. “We were never friends. It was just an arrangement of convenience—I helped you with Potions and you amused me with your stupidity and now that you’ve been accepted into your Hufflepuff ranks, I would hardly want to be seen with you. It’d be quite embarrassing, so if you could save us both the trouble, I’d be eternally grateful—”

 

“—I’m sorry!” Scorpius cries, face ashen. Albus stares at him in astonishment, and any other time, Scorpius might have laughed—it’s a funny look, when Albus’s eyes get all large and round; he almost looks his age. But at the moment, Scorpius only repeats himself a second time, softer but just as contrite. “I’m sorry.”

 

“What?”

 

_I’m sorry I haven’t sought you out sooner._

“I’m sorry, I can’t leave you alone now,” Scorpius all but yells. “I-I promised Father that...that my Potions grade won’t go down, you see! You can’t abandon me now, just because I’ve become more Hufflepuff! That’s unethical!” Scorpius exclaims, scrounging for words.

 

_I’m sorry I’ve been such a poor friend._

“And-and actually...in fact, I told Emily and Jonathan that you’d help us—all of us—with our essays, so you’d better come to the library with me after dinner!”

 

Albus blinks owlishly a few times, as if he can’t quite comprehend Scorpius’ words. “What on earth, Malfoy? Why would you tell them that? And why in the world would I come?”

 

“I...well,” Scorpius stutters. He wonders if he’s saying the right things, if these are excuses that strange Albus will accept without poking right through them. He wonders if it’s enough of an apology.

 

“I’ll tell my father! If you don’t come, I’ll tell him, and he’ll—he’ll—”

 

“He’ll what, Malfoy?” Albus’s lips quirk in a slow, aggravating smirk.

 

And somehow, that’s when Scorpius knows that they’ll be okay.

 

“He’ll send you another peacock, that’s what!”

 

Scorpius’s cerulean eyes are wide open. He stares unblinkingly at Albus, sincerity pouring out the windows of his soul. Albus’s lips twitch just a little at the corners.

 

And then they’re both laughing.

 

 

~~

 

February’s spent largely indoors, huddled before warm fires or over creaking library tables.

 

Scorpius’s newfound friends are strangely taken with Albus, his particular brand of mean-spirited humor notwithstanding. Albus summarily dismisses their affection— _it’s the Potter fame, that’s all—_ but Scorpius suspects he’s secretly pleased. Scorpius also suspects that the Hufflepuffs see right through Albus’s act, that for all his eye-rolling and uncharitable deprecation, he’s willing to read every word of your Charms essay, just as he’s willing to walk you through every step of a knotty Arithmancy calculation. And sometimes, he might even sit by you when you’re down and pelt you with insults until you can’t help but laugh or fight back.

 

Scorpius imagines it’s an odd sight to see Albus among a crowd of Hufflepuffs. Sometimes, when they walk together, they run into groups of sneering Slytherins. Albus’s green eyes flare with anger, but Scorpius grabs his arm and gently steers him away.

 

Some people aren’t worth it, Scorpius thinks. And he’s happy enough, with or without their blessing.

 

 

~~

 

It’s still chilly when late March rolls around. Scorpius shivers as a blast of wind hits him, but he trudges on, ever regretting that he’s waited until now to pick baby clovers from the garden for the next morning’s Herbology class. The grounds are mostly abandoned at this hour. Scorpius picks up his pace as he cuts across the quidditch fields—Hogwarts in the dark is more ominous then he would like.

 

A sudden _woosh_ in the skies above gives him pause. It doesn’t feel like natural wind, and yet he does feel a definitive breeze skirt the top of his head, blowing his lightened golden strands all out of order. He peers up curiously and is surprised to find someone riding a broom, whirling in the night sky.

 

The person catches sight of him too, slows down, `and carefully descends to the ground.

 

“James?” Scorpius ventures, squinting the dark.

 

“Scorpius! Thought it was you,” James says with an easy, if slightly embarrassed grin. “Can spot that hair anywhere, you know. You’d make a terrible undercover detective.”

 

“Er...”

 

“Sorry, it’s just that I saw you reading those Muggle books Al likes—the _Poirot_ ones. I thought you’d want to be a—well, anyway...”

 

Scorpius blinks. He’s not sure what to say. He hasn’t spoken to James since those few minutes of interaction in December. He’s seen the older boy around, of course, but he’s always surrounded by his Gryffindor posse, so Scorpius has largely given up trying to approach him.

 

Albus had scoffed— _as if James would talk to you in public, where everyone can see. He doesn’t even talk to_ me, _don’t you see?_

Scorpius hadn’t really understood that, but Albus never bothered to explain, merely concluding the whole conversation with a dismissive: _James is like that_.

 

But here in the dark and empty quidditch field, James appears his usual friendly self—he even knows what books Scorpius reads!—so Scorpius really can’t take Albus too seriously. He smiles shyly at James and asks, “What are you doing out here at this hour?”

 

“Well, you know.” James makes an incomprehensible gesture with his hands before running his fingers through wind-mussed auburn hair. Scorpius stares at him in confusion. “Er...maybe you don’t know. I guess you must not follow quidditch much. I’m playing in the next game in a couple weeks! The last one this term, you know?”

 

“Oh! Are you?” Scorpius exclaims. Of course, he’d known that James was Gryffindor’s reserve seeker, but he isn’t as consumed by quidditch developments as some, so he hadn’t heard that James had made his way off the reserve. “Congratulations!”

 

“Thanks! Anyway, I thought I’d pack some extra practice in.”

 

“Oh, are you nervous?”

 

“No, not—well, a bit,” James admits bashfully. “It being my first game and all. And Dad was so great, I just thought...”

 

“I’m sure you’ll be great too!” Scorpius offers when James trails off into self-conscious silence. “That is, everyone says you play brilliantly.”

 

James perks up a bit. “Do...do they?”

 

“That’s what I hear. I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you.”

 

“Yes, well...” James frowns momentarily. “I guess that also means I have more to live up to.”

 

“Oh, I didn’t mean to put pressure on you—”

 

“No, not at all!” James protests. “You’ve motivated me. Thanks, Scorp.”

 

Scorpius knows he’s staring again, but, “Scorp?”

 

This brings a look of alarm to James’s face. “Sorry! I didn’t mean for that to slip out! It’s just shorter, that’s all. And I thought since you’re Al’s friend...no, sorry—”

 

“It’s all right!” Scorpius blurts. “I don’t mind at all.” He feels ridiculously special, actually, to receive a nickname from _James_ of all people.

 

James smiles in relief. “That’s good.”

 

They stand in silence for a few moments before Scorpius shivers again—he’s forgotten to put on his heavier sweater. James frowns. “Are you cold? You’d better hurry back! No need to stay out here with me. I’ll just fly a couple more rounds and head back myself.

 

Scorpius nods and wishes James good luck. “You’ll do great!” he shouts as he walks back towards the castle. When he looks back after a couple steps—because how can he resist?—James has already disappeared into the darkness.

 

 

~~

 

 

“Where’ve you been?”

 

Scorpius jumps slightly when Albus accosts him unexpectedly in the hallway. Under the light of the flickering torches that line the walls, Albus could easily be mistaken for a ghost with his pale skin and raven hair. It takes Scorpius a moment to calm his heart.

 

“I was picking clovers,” Scorpius explains, holding out his box of the fresh-picked grass for Albus to see. He leaves out his encounter with James, intuitively feeling that Albus wouldn’t like to talk about that anyway.

 

Albus rolls his eyes. “I knew you’d wait until the last minute.” He peers at Scorpius’s clovers with a look of disdain. “And that you would pick the wrong ones.”

 

“What?” Scorpius takes a look at the clovers and frowns. “Aren’t we picking the four leaved clovers?”

 

“The white clovers, yes. But you’ve got the red ones.”

 

“Oh!” Scorpius groans with a note of distress. “I couldn’t see clearly in the dark—this is ridiculous. And I suppose I’ll have to go back now—”

 

“—Luckily for you, I’ve never underestimated your ability to fudge things up. Here you are.” Albus steps forward from where he’s leaned against the wall, takes away Scorpius’s box and replaces it with his own in one fluid motion. “I picked extra this afternoon and have been trying to find an opportunity to hand them off to you.”

 

“Al Potter,” Scorpius exclaims, staring at his newfound clovers with disbelief. “You’re wonderful!” He would have thrown his arms around his friend had they been free. “This is brilliant!”

 

Albus’s ears grow red at the tips, but he tries to maintain his air of aloofness. “It’s nothing. I just knew you’d mess up, that’s all. Don’t be late for class tomorrow.”

 

“I won’t.” Scorpius smiles knowingly but doesn’t call him out. He watches with a happy grin as Albus stalks away.

 

 

~~

 

 

The following night, after he finishes Transfigurations homework and parts ways with Albus, Scorpius finds himself yearning to return to the field again. It’s as if he’s discovered a secret, a secret about the boy that so many idolize and want to befriend. And the secret is all his!

 

He sits with his friends for awhile in the common room, but before he knows it, he’s already standing and slipping away, waving absently to Emily and Jonathan, resolutely ignoring their queries as to his destination. He’s not ready to share.

 

He’s delighted to see that James is indeed flying again, and when the older boy comes to a steady landing by his side, he offers him a cup of hot chocolate that he’s nicked from the kitchens.

 

“Scorp, don’t you know that I have to maintain my figure,” James scolds with a faux-frown. Scorpius laughs, because James couldn’t be in better shape if he tried. Girls don’t ogle after him just because he’s a Potter.

 

“Can I do anything to help?” Scorpius asks after James finishes gulping down the warm drink.

 

James eyes him thoughtfully and after a pause, asks “Well, can you play?”

 

“P-play?”

 

“I mean, do you want to play against me? It might help me practice.”

 

“Well, I’m not—I’m no good, I don’t think, and you’re, you...” Scorpius stutters.

 

But somehow, James presses him to try and they manage to fetch him a broom. Scorpius is still lightheaded with confusion when he ascends and begins chasing after the elusive snitch against James Potter, the two of them zipping among the stars. Scorpius isn’t nearly as good as James (or even decent, objectively speaking), and James beats him five out of five matches, but all the same, he doesn’t think he’s ever experienced a more exhilarating flight in his life.

 

When they land again, both of them are a bit out of breath and Scorpius’s pale cheeks are pink from the wind. James grins at him. “You’re not so bad, Scorp. You could probably try out next year, if you wanted.”

 

“Do you think so?” Scorpius asks brightly, even though he doesn’t really believe it. Father had made it sufficiently clear, though not explicitly, that Scorpius had failed to inherit his superior quidditch genes.

 

“Sure! It’s all about practice.”

 

In fact, James adds, Scorpius is welcome to practice with him again. “It really does help,” he insists. “And it’s fun! I mean...if you’d like to, that is.”

 

Scorpius stares at James with wonder—he’s beyond flattered—and he nods his assent as if his life depends on it. James laughs and shoos him back to the castle, after assuring Scorpius that he’d very much like to play with him again the next night.

 

Scorpius falls asleep with an air of impatience; he’s already longing for the next day. He dreams of snitches and James’s easy smile.   

 

 

~~

 

Playing with James late at night when no one’s watching becomes routine over the next week. Scorpius knows it’s an ephemeral arrangement, but he’s excited anyway. And he doesn’t share with anyone where he’s heading off to so late at night, even though he receives a growing number of questioning glances; it’s still his secret.

 

Perhaps that’s why he’s surprised when he runs into Albus on his way back to the castle. Albus is standing by the door that leads in from the fields. He crosses his arms over his narrow chest and wears a look of cold accusation.

 

“So this is where you’ve been,” he says quietly.

 

Scorpius halts and, after recovering from surprise, faces Albus with an uncertain smile. “Hello Al. I-I’m surprised you’re out here.”

 

Albus shrugs, but the tension in his shoulders belies his nonchalance. “Was just curious what you’ve been up to. No one’s been able to find you these past few evenings.”

 

Scorpius lets out a nervous laugh. He tries to think quickly and come up with an explanation, even as he wonders why he has to explain at all. He finally settles for a half-defeated, half-annoyed, “I would’ve told you.”

 

Albus lifts his brow in that aggravating way he’s so good at, and Scorpius’s irritation escalates. “Really. It’s just that I didn’t think you would’ve liked to hear about it. You get all—you close up whenever I try to talk about James.”

 

“Ah. So you thought it’d be better if you just went about it behind my back.”

 

Scorpius’s eyes narrow. “What do you mean? You say it as if—as if I’m doing something _wrong_. I’m just playing quidditch, that’s all! And _with your brother_ , at that.”

 

Albus’s eyes glow uncannily in the dark and he speaks quietly, almost calmly, but it doesn’t fool Scorpius. “Yes, my brother. The one who never speaks to me if anyone’s there to see. In fact, who never speaks to _you_ if there’s anyone around to see. Who only ever speaks to the _right people_ , which don’t include the son of a former death eater or the sibling that’s suspected of dark magic, in case you haven’t figured it out.  And who practices in the dark because he’s scared that people will find out he isn’t as great at quidditch as a Potter child should be. That brother.”

 

Scorpius frowns in frustration. “Al, I don’t know what you’re on about. He’s just nervous and wants to practice against someone—”

 

“Of course, that’s right—practice against someone that he knows he can beat without any effort so that he feels better about himself—”

 

“—Do you hear yourself? You sound mad! I can’t believe—”

 

“You don’t _know_ him Scorpius,” Albus interrupts impatiently, his voice taking on a twinge of desperation. “You’re just like everyone else. Mum adores him, you know, and so does everyone on Mum’s side. He’s perfect—perfectly normal. No parseltongue or dark magic or memories of the war they fought. He just smiles and does everything well enough, and he knows it too. Everyone thinks he’s so nice, even when the truth is that he couldn’t care less about anyone except his small group of perfectly normal Gryffindor followers, and everyone loves him—”

 

“—Except you.”

 

“Because I see through him.”

 

“Because you’re _jealous_ ,” Scorpius snaps in anger. He knows it’s mean, knows it from the way Albus’s eyes widen and fill with hurt, but he can’t stop himself. “You’re jealous that he’s normal and that everyone likes him.”

 

An uncomfortable silence envelops them, broken only by the occasional gusts of wind that rustle the newborn leaves.

 

Moments pass. Albus’s lips press into a thin line. His eyes are cold, as cold as they were when Scorpius first tried to befriend him. He stares hard at Scorpius for a few seconds, then says in a clipped tone, “All right. If that’s what you want to believe.”

 

He doesn’t slam the door when he walks away. All his movments are controlled, his face expressionless, as if he isn’t burning with rage inside.

 

Scorpius waits until he’s sure Albus has rounded the corner before he enters the castle. He’s less controlled, turmoil plainly splayed across his fair face as he speeds towards his room.

 

 

~~

 

 

“Scorpius, are you and Al all right?”

 

Emily’s the one who asks, but Ernie and Jonathan stare at him in expectation. The trio has surrounded him at the breakfast table and he has nowhere to run.

 

“We’re fine,” Scorpius mutters crossly.

 

“You don’t seem fine, mate,” says Ernie with clear skepticism. “I don’t think you’ve talked all week.”

 

It’s true. They hadn’t spoken again since that encounter by the quidditch fields. In fact, Albus doesn’t even look at him anymore, and since he doesn’t eat in the Great Hall, Scorpius barely sees him. It’s as if their five months of interaction has amounted to nothing, disappeared in an explosive puff of smoke.

 

Scorpius takes a particular vicious stab at the sunny egg on his plate. “Well, we _would_ be fine,”—another stab—“if he weren’t such a stupid, jealous, little git!”—a final stab.

 

Ernie and Jonathan slide away from him just slightly. Even Emily leans backwards, though she’s sitting across the table.

 

“Er...what happened?”

 

Scorpius considers explaining. He decides against it. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

 

Fortunately, everyone’s soon distracted by an eruption of cheers from the Gryffindor table. Scorpius looks over too and sees that a large package has been dropped right before James Potter. The boy looks puzzled at first, then tears away the wrapping to discover the newest broom model on the market.

 

Jonathan, who’s particularly into quidditch, is practically salivating. “Do you _see_ that! Do you know how _expensive_ that is? I can’t believe he just _gets one_ —”

 

“Well, he is playing on the actual team next game,” Emily says, staring more at the boy than the broom, “so I say he deserves it.”

 

“But Em, you have to understand, there are a lot of zeroes, and I mean _a lot ..._ ”

 

Scorpius observes the delighted smile on James’s face and feels happy for him. He tries to catch James’s eye again, and to his surprise, he succeeds. For a brief second, he’s staring into James’s friendly brown orbs and his heart soars in excitement. _Congratulations_ , he hopes to say.

 

James looks away quickly.

 

Scorpius blinks. Then again. His heart reverses course and plummets in confused disappointment. He thinks it must be a fluke and stares hard at James again, but James has already turned to his friends.

 

_He only ever speaks to the right people._

 

Scorpius shakes his head. No, he can’t let Al’s silly, irrational jealousy get to him. James wouldn’t...

 

 

“Scorpius, you alright? Scorpius?”

 

 

... would he?

 

 

 

~~

 

 

Scorpius gets to the quidditich field a bit earlier that night. It’s almost time for the game—just another week before Gryffindor versus Slytherin. James isn’t there though and Scorpius’s heart sinks some more as he plops down on the grass and closes his eyes. He wishes he could ask James, just bluntly, and banish these doubts, banish Albus’s stupid voice from his head.

 

Then he can tell Albus _I told you so_ to his face. And after that, maybe he’ll apologize, because he was rather mean about the whole thing.

 

And he misses talking to Albus. A little bit.

 

Footsteps approach. Scorpius’s eyes pop open and he bolts up with a nervous smile. “Jame—”

 

It isn’t James.

 

Scorpius stares at the group of Slytherin quidditch players that have gathered around him. They look equally surprised to see him, but it’s not long before identical smirks of malice bloom on their shadowed faces. Scorpius grasps at his wand with trembling fingers.

 

The tallest one—McNath, Scorpius thinks is his name—steps closer and taunts Scorpius with a sneer. “What are you doing out here all by yourself, Malfoy? Where are your little friends?”

 

“Yeah, where’s Potter? The evil one, I mean.” Scattered laughter. “Isn’t he supposed to guard you, like some sort of dog?

 

Scorpius frowns and scampers up. He tries not to look at them or speak to them as he attempts to push past.

 

“Not so fast, Malfoy,” someone—Nott?—yells. Scorpius feels his legs bind together by the force of magic just before he topples over, immobile. “Hasn’t anyone told you it’s rude to ignore your classmates? Not to mention _stupid_ to turn your back on your enemies?”

 

Scorpius grimaces and tries to crawl up, but he’s instantly hit by another blast. This one stings. Tears well up in his eyes but he refuses to let them fall, even as several more Slytherins draw their wands.

 

“Won’t we get into trouble?” he hears someone whisper, tentatively.

 

“Oh please, no one comes out here at this hour,” is the careless response. “We’ll be long gone before then, and who’s going to believe some death eater spawn?”

 

More laughter.

 

He’s not sure what they hit him with after that but it doesn’t matter because he can’t fight back and he hurts all over. He hurts so much he can barely think, much less act. He begins to shut down, a despairing numbness spreading through his bruised body and replacing all panic and all hope.

 

He’s teetering on the precipice; his vision darkens and darkens as he strives for escape through the unconscious. Then, just before he gives himself up to the abyss, he hears a familiar voice yell _protego._ A shield of magic flares to life.

 

“Oh shit,” one of the Slytherins yelp.

 

“What the fuck is Potter doing out here at this hour?”

 

There’s a flurry of movement—they must be trying to scatter in the dark. He hears that same voice—James, he knows it’s James—cursing at the Slytherins with a rage he never thought possible.

 

When he finally blacks out, he’s almost certain that James is holding him. He slips out of consciousness with the happy thought that finally, he can face Al and declare _I told you so._

 

 

~~

 

 

Scorpius creeps in and out of lucidity for an unknown period of time. Most days, his eyes flutter open to his parents’ worried faces, but on occasion, it’s to Emily shushing Jonathan, or Madam Pomfrey’s pursed lips. Very rarely, his bleary vision identifies James by his reddish brown hair and his warm, concerned eyes.

 

And just once, he thinks he sees a flash of green. He thinks he hears an apology in that sarcastic voice he’s missed so much and he wants to say _it’s okay_ , closely followed by _I told you so._ Or maybe the other way around. But he falls asleep too soon and when he wakes again, he’s all alone.

 

 

~~

 

 

“You missed a great match,” Jonathan says, handing him a slice of apple.

 

It’s almost a week and a half later. Scorpius still lives in the hospital wing though he’s almost completely recovered. He thinks it’s rather severe of Madam Pomfrey—even his over-anxious parents have returned to the Manor—but he daren’t aggravate the nurse.

 

He does long to go outside though. Spring has finally arrived in full and Hogwarts is swimming in petals and sunshine. He stares wistfully out the window as Jonathan prattles on.

 

“Gryffindor won, in case you’re curious. Slytherin had to put on all their reserve players since their actual players—those bastards—have been suspended. Rightfully so, obviously. But James played wonderfully! He—oh—he’s...right here...”

 

Surprised, Scorpius turns from the window to the door and sees that James Potter is indeed standing there, his lanky figure filling the frame. He smiles at Jonathan with a quick, “Hello.” Scorpius would have laughed had Jonathan’s silly star-struck look not been all too familiar.

 

 

 

“Congratulations,” Scorpius says after Jonathan leaves him alone with James and after he’s thanked James for coming to his rescue.

 

“Thanks,” James replies with a bashful grin. “Couldn’t have done it without your help.”

 

Scorpius laughs. “Are you referring to those late night practice sessions with me or to the fact that I got half of the Slytherin team suspended?”

 

He had meant to make a joke, but James takes him seriously. The older boy’s friendly face takes on an expression of anger, which surprises and unnerves Scorpius. He finds the expression incongruous. It somehow doesn’t fit him like it fits—

 

“By the way, where’s Al been?” Scorpius asks abruptly, in part to change the subject and in part because the question’s been nagging him since he’s come to. He wants to apologize.

 

The question provokes a flash of discomfort in James. It heightens Scorpius’s suspicions and he asks again, more urgently this time.

 

“I--hasn’t anyone told you?”

 

“No,” Scorpius says impatiently. “Everyone keeps dodging the question. But _you_ must know.” He adds, accusatorily because he feels testy, “Even if you don’t ever talk to him.”

 

James seems to shrink against his chair. This, too, worries Scorpius, because James doesn’t ever shrink. He’s a Gryffindor, he’s Potter’s son, he stands up tall.

 

James pushes his hair out of his eyes—an unnecessary act of stalling, before he finally faces Scorpius with something akin to guilt or apology or distress. “He’s...gone.”

 

“What?”

 

“He doesn’t—he can’t go here anymore.”

 

“What are you...”Scorpius blinks rapidly, but that doesn’t help. “What does that even mean?”

 

“I mean, he hasn’t been expelled, but if he stays, the Headmistress said she’ll have to put it on his record. So Mum decided—Mum thought it’d be best if we just transferred him, and the Headmistress agreed out of respect for our family.”

 

Scorpius feels himself grow numb as the full story tumbles out.

 

Albus was so angry when he found out, James explains. And maybe he felt guilty, for leaving Scorpius alone. But it was mostly anger. He tracked those Slytherins down before their suspension—it wasn’t hard, they still lived in the Slytherin rooms—and he brought with him—

 

“Snakes. He called the snakes out from the Forbidden Forest and they slithered into the dungeons somehow—there were cracks? I’m not sure—but anyway, McNath and Nott and their bunch woke up covered in snakes and snake bites. None of the bites were lethal but, I mean, they were creatures of the forest and...anyway. Mum’s thinking about Durmstrang.

 

“I’m—I’m sorry,” the other boy finishes in a whisper. “I don’t think he’s coming back.”

 

Scorpius stares at James blankly. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t think there is anything left to say. He wants to laugh—because _really_ , he was going to tell Al _I told you so_? how _fucking_ _juvenile_ —but his throat closes in on itself. He can’t make sounds; he can barely breathe.

 

 

James stares at him with concerned eyes. Absolutely swimming with concern. All the concern that Scorpius could have ever wanted. But of course, ironic as always, he’s the wrong Potter.

 

Scorpius thinks: when he had parted from Albus that night, he had no idea that they would come to be apart for so long.


	5. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested in amazing artwork, Moaniez has created a beautiful portrayal of Scorpius:  
> http://moaniebike.tumblr.com/post/111346015864/fanart-of-black-sheep-a-fic-where-scorpius-was. I absolutely love it, so please check it out! :)

*** Interlude *** 

 

20th April, 20XX

 

Dear Al,

 

I hope this letter finds you well. If you are wondering why it has taken me so long to write, it is because I have just learned about what happened to you. I am so sorry. I feel terrible about it, and I wish I could help. I asked Father to talk to the Headmistress, but she said that your mother has already confirmed your withdrawal. I am awfully sad that you are gone and I did not have the chance to say goodbye. Please write back to let me know how you are. Perhaps I can visit you this summer? I miss you already.

 

Your friend,

 

Scorpius Malfoy

 

 

 

~~

 

 

13th May, 20XX

 

Dear Al,

 

How are you? I have not heard back from you. Are you angry at me? Please don’t be. I am sorry. More sorry every day.

I am also sorry about what I said before you left. I shouldn’t have argued with you. If you are angry about that, please know that I apologize.

Please do write back.

 

Your friend,

 

Scorpius

 

~~

 

 

1st June, 20XX

 

Dear Al,

 

I still miss you, but now you are just being mean. I can’t believe you still refuse to write me. It’s very cruel of you.

Even James has shown more kindness. He sits with me in the dining hall at the Hufflepuff table and he walks with me to all my classes. No one has bothered me because he’s always around, and even though he’s usually a pretty nice person, he has a pretty mean glare. Did you know that? Anyway, even though I’m sorry I argued with you, I still believe that James isn’t as bad as you believe him to be. Perhaps you can learn to like him too?

And please do write me back.

 

Your anxious friend,

Scorpius

 

 

~~

 

 

25th June, 20XX

 

Dear Al,

 

I was unkind in my last letter. Perhaps that is why you haven’t written. But I do so want to hear from you.

First year is ending at last. I feel that much has happened in this year, but of all that has happened, I am happiest about having met you and becoming friends with you, though it was very difficult. And I am saddest about your leaving. I do so miss you.

Emily, Jonathan, and Ernie miss you too. They told me so. They say you have not written back to them either and they are sad about that. We all wish you could come back. Our grades suffer when you are gone. . . I jest.

I am going back to the Manor for the summer. If you ever forgive me and wish to see me, you are always welcome to visit.

 

Your friend,

 

Scorpius

 

~~

 

15th July, 20XX

 

Dear Al,

 

Summer at the Manor is very delightful. The weather has been good and everything is beautifully green. You would fit right in with your green eyes, especially with the toads that crowd our pond.

How is your summer? I miss Hogwarts a bit, but I like that I have my own room again. I especially like that I have my own bathroom. I also like that I can wake whenever I want and that I don’t have to go to classes. Sometimes Father tries to make me read books and practice my penmanship, but Mother tells him that’s dreadfully dull so we go on picnics instead.

I hope your summer started out as wonderfully as mine.

 

 

Your friend,

Scorpius

 

P.S. I have forgotten to inquire after Bess. How is she? Her brothers and sisters miss her and call for her every day. It is giving Father headaches.

 

 

~~

 

12th August, 20XX

 

 

Dear Al,

 

I was mistaken. Summer has become rather dull. Father and Mother are nice but they talk about such boring things. I miss you and the others. I invited Emily, Jonathan, and Ernie to spend some time at the Manor, but they are traveling, so I remain alone. I am so bored, I even miss James. Are you two getting along now? I hope you are.

I almost look forward to going back to Hogwarts. Your sister is coming this year, is she not? Will you be seeing her off? I hope to meet you at the platform.

 

Your friend,

 

Scorpius

 

 

~~

 

2nd Sept, 20XX

 

Dear Al,

 

I am sad that I did not see you yesterday, as are all your other friends in Hufflepuff. They are all well, in case you are curious. Ernie has got a dreadful sunburn on his face though and it is unpleasant to look at him these days. The welcoming feast was delicious, as always.

By the way, do you know if James is angry at me? I tried to wave hello at the Platform, but he didn’t look like he wanted to wave back. And later, when I ran into him, he spoke to me as if we weren’t close at all. I don’t mean to say that he was unkind. He was very nice and greeted me properly, but he doesn’t seem at all like the James from end of last term. I wonder what has changed.

I also wonder if your mother is angry at me still. I thought she glared at me before across the Platform, but I can’t be sure. I wanted to go over and apologize, but Father held me back. If she is angry at me, could you let her know I am sorry? Your father seems all right though, but he looks very tired.

James tells me you are going to Durmstrang this year. I am sad that you will be so far away, but perhaps we will still have a chance to see each other some time. My parents are thinking about taking the winter holidays on the Continent. I shall let you know more soon.

 

Your friend,

 

Scorpius

 

 

~~

 

 

10th October, 20XX

 

Dear Al,

 

How is Durmstrang? I hear it is colder there than here at Hogwarts and that the professors are more strict. I hope you are well. Hogwarts looks very pretty right now as we enter autumn. I was very sad around this time last year, but this year is all right. Second year classes are much harder, but I am blessed with very good friends, though I am sad you are not here.

I suppose you haven’t spoken to James. He is still acting strange. That is, he is very nice and friendly when he sees me, but it somehow feels like we are not quite friends. Or not as we were at the end of last year. Do you know why that is? It makes me feel a bit sad. Have I done something wrong?

Please write back about Durmstrang. I hope you are having a good time there.

 

Your friend,

Scorpius

 

 

 

~~

 

 

30th November, 20XX

 

Dear Al,

 

It has been more than half a year since I have seen or heard from you. I hope you are well. I am happy here at Hogwarts, even though my classes are going abysmally without your help. I am jealous of you and James—you both make it seem so easy to obtain top marks. Anyway, I don’t speak much to James anymore except for when I occasionally run into him. Jonathan says it must be the Malfoy-Potter blood acting up and that my friendships with you and James were doomed from the start. I think he’s being silly. I know I am happy to have met both of you.

I write this letter to tell you that I am beginning to get very busy as it is almost end of term. There are many projects and assignments to finish the hols, so I may not have much time to write. Please know that I am thinking of you though, always.

 

Your friend,

 

Scorpius

 

 

***


	6. 6

“Need help with that, Scorpius?”

Scorpius smiles wanly and shakes his head no. “I’m all right. It’s just a bit of dirt.”

Jonathan eyes him skeptically and takes a closer look at the contents of the buckets Scorpius is holding. He’s only half right—it’s not so much dirt as it is compact, wet mud. The buckets look heavy. “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.” The bead of sweat that trickles down Scorpius’s damp forehead contradicts his words, but Jonathan shrugs and lets him pass.

Scorpius nods and trudges on.

 

A gentle September breeze caresses his heated cheeks when he finally makes it outside the castle walls. Scorpius’s lips quirk into a relieved smile as he sets down his buckets for a quick break. Taking a deep breath, he’s filled with the essence of autumn, a spicy scent he’s come to associate with yearly returns to Hogwarts. He adds it to his mental list of things he’ll miss when he graduates next year; already, he’s begun to feel nostalgic.

Fittingly, a group of first years shuffle past on the yellowing grass. Scorpius watches them fondly as they chatter. He knows he’s not so much older, but somehow, five years makes all the difference and he wonders idly if he, too, looked so small when he was their age. He smiles affably at two little girls that peer his way.

The girls slow their pace and stare, much to Scorpius’s amused consternation. Their cheeks redden conspicuously and they shoot each other conspiratorial, questioning glances, nudging each other forward. All the while, Scorpius contemplates methods of extrication. Eleven-year-old girls, frankly, are not his cup of tea.

The boys of the group are less than pleased to be slowed down by the dawdling girls. Scorpius gets it—they’re at that age when even the mere thought of romance invokes sickening revulsion. They shoot Scorpius looks of barely masked irritation and try to hurry the girls along.

“Really, you can’t be staring at him,” one says, loud enough for Scorpius to hear from several steps away.

“Well, why not? He’s _beautiful.”_

“Oh, that’s-that’s gross. Can’t believe you said that, Sarah!”

The girl rolls her eyes. “You’re so childish, Thomas.”

The boy sputters indignantly. “Me? You’re the one mooning after a Malfoy! Don’t you know his family is full of traitors?”

Another boy, similarly frustrated, adds with a knowing smirk: “And I heard he did something awful and got one of the Potters expelled! Better not go near him, or he might get you expelled too!”

By all accounts, it’s a completely illogical statement, but the girls look uncertain now. They peer at Scorpius questioningly. He half shrugs in response— _what can I say?_ —and picks up his buckets again with a grunt. With a kindly grin—they’re only eleven, what do they know?—he resumes his journey to the greenhouse.

 

 

It’s not that he’s bothered, Scorpius thinks as his dragonhide boots crunch into a layer of crisp colorful leaves. He’s no longer the child who shrivels into himself and cries alone at night.

For one, he’s not alone. There’s Jonathan and Ernie and Emily and a whole host of Hufflepuffs who would come to his defense in a heartbeat. And for another, he’s come to learn that people often say things they don’t mean or care about—and really, what hasn’t he heard over the years? Everything dies down eventually.

But one thing sticks: the boy’s offhand comment about Albus, whose shadow trails him like a ghost, not completely visible but not quite dispelled. The ghost is summoned to life by the occasional mentions of “that other Potter,” and despite the passage of time, Scorpius sees flashes of green. And he begins to wonder. Where is Albus now? What’s he doing? Has he changed? Why doesn’t he ever write? Sometimes, Scorpius begins to compose _Dear Albus_ in his head, but he has long stopped sending letters.

Maybe it’s sorrow, or longing, or guilt that feeds the ghost of Albus. Whatever the cause, he lingers, the symbol of a relationship that remains unresolved, unfinished.

 

 

The greenhouse appears empty, as he had expected. Not many people frequent this place, though Scorpius finds it rather nice himself, especially as the weather outside grows chilly. From floor to ceiling, the glass structure is crowded with trees and flowers and herbs, both magical and not, and their sweet scents infuse into the atmosphere like a natural perfume. The air is mildly humid but delightfully warm; one could take a nice nap here, Scorpius thinks.

He makes his way to a small pond obscured by dwarf willows and carefully pours in the liquid soil he’s carried over. The enchanted soil has made its way around the world from the bottom of the Amazon River. Scorpius can only hope that this expensive (not to mention heavy) purchase will help revive the transplanted magical lilies. They look disappointingly wilted.

The task done, Scorpius hovers by at the edge of the pond and watches the lithe candiru swim laps around the lily stems. He’ll have to fish them out soon, kill them, and mash them into paste for Slughorn’s first year Potions class, and he feels rather sorry. Indeed, he explains as much out loud to the fish, voice tinged with helplessness as he tries to convince himself that they understand him. His voice echoes against the glass walls.

“Who’s there?”

Scorpius heart leaps. He could’ve sworn that he was alone all this time. His blue eyes dart about wildly before they pinpoint the intruder, standing just a few steps away, half hidden by the willows. His lips form a silent “o.”

Dirt-splattered boots, Gryffindor crimson, broad shoulders and a smattering of faded freckles. Who but James Potter stands before him, surprised brown eyes a reflection of his own?

A few beats of silence are dedicated to a confused staring contest. Then James says, uncertainly, “Hullo...Scorp.” The older boy blinks slowly, as if he had just woken and his mind had yet to reach full capacity, unable to comprehend Scorpius’ presence.

But his words bring Scorpius out of his stupor. He straightens from his crouching position and greets James with a tentative smile.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, James,” he says. “Thought the place was empty.”

“Yes, so did I,” says James with a barely-stifled yawn. “Then I heard someone’s voice—who were you talking to by the way? Is there someone else?”

“Er, no, I was-the fish-that is-er, no," Scorpius stutters. "No one else. Just me.”

James quirks his brow. “I see.” The words are laden with a sort of amusement that causes Scorpius to redden in embarrassment.

He clears his throat and changes the subject. “I’ve never seen you here before.”

James blinks.

“That is, I’m here quite often, and I’ve never seen you,” Scorpius explains.

“Yes, well, I’ve only just discovered myself that it’s a nice spot for a mid-day nap. Warm, quiet, no one around to bother me.” James adds, when he sees Scorpius’s look of apology, “Not that you’re a bother. Just that it’s hard to get any peace and quiet up at the castle. People are always looking for me to help with random tasks...” his voice trails off. “Not that I mind.”

Scorpius nods in sympathy. James is Head Boy now, and though he was always highly sought after, he really does seem to be pulled in all directions this final year.

“Well, should I leave you to your nap then? I’ve just finished my work so I’d best head back to the castle.”

“No, no. I’ve napped all afternoon. Rather lazy of me, actually. And I imagine it’s almost time for dinner from the looks of it.” And indeed, the skies outside the glass walls have been dyed orange and purple. “I’ll walk back with you. That is, if you don’t mind. I haven’t had the chance to speak with you for quite some time now, and it’s been rather remiss of me.”

“Oh,” says Scorpius, startled. He hadn’t expected that. It’s not a long walk back to the castle, perhaps just ten minutes, but that’s ten minutes of silence he has to fill when he hasn’t spoken to James for so long. Only, it’s rude to refuse when they’re clearly going the same way...

The short pause is interrupted by someone bellowing for Scorpius. “Are you there?” asks the man urgently. “If you are, I would so like your help with the mandr—oh! James!”

Professor Longbottom’s paunchy body enters the clearing by the pond. His eyes bulge at seeing James, but a cheerful smile quickly spreads across the plump face. “Why goodness, I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“Since the hols, Professor,” James says with an easy smile at the older man. “How are you?”

“I’m very well, thank you! Very well, indeed. And you, my dear?”

“Splendid, especially after my restful nap amongst the impressive array of wildlife you’ve gathered here.”

“Yes, it is impressive, isn’t it?” the professor exclaims with pleasure. He turns to Scorpius. “But I’ll have to give this young man here the credit. Has quite the talent for cultivating exotic species, Scorpius does.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

Scorpius can feel his pale cheeks redden again under Professor Longbottom’s praise and James’s questioning stare. “No, not at all,” he says. “I just-I just like plants. They’re... soothing, I suppose. And sometimes they listen when you speak to them.”

It had been a surprise actually, his affinity for plants. Indeed, by third year he had come to the conclusion that he had very little talent for any subject, and he had just about resigned himself to the path laid out by Father, which is to say, rich Lord who pottered about and did nothing useful at all. But then came Professor Longbottom who, despite his colorful past with Father, clicked surprisingly well with Scorpius, perhaps due to their shared clumsiness. Somewhere between after-class lessons and impromptu teas at the greenhouse, they discovered Scorpius’s strange aptitude for the cultivation of exotic flora and fauna. Now, as a sixth year, he helps Professor Longbottom run the greenhouse and tinkers with the plants whenever he has a spare moment.

James teases, “So you were speaking to the plants just now?”

“No,” Scorpius protests quickly, embarrassed. “It was the...the fish.” At least they’re sentient.

James chuckles. “The fish, then. Professor, Scorp and I were just about to go to dinner. Will you be joining us?”

“Oh dear me, no!" cries the professor. "I had come to collect some mandrakes. A sudden order came in from St. Mungo’s, needs them right away for something. Scorpius, you wouldn’t mind, that is, I am terribly sorry but—”

“Absolutely, Professor. James, it was good seeing you again, but you go ahead!”

“Are you sure? I can stay, too—”

“No, no, James,” Longbottom says, already turning his back to make his way towards a different part of the greenhouse. “It’ll be quicker with just Scorpius and me. We’re experienced. Go eat dinner, and I’ll see you on Monday’s class.”

James shrugs at Scorpius. “I’ll see you around then, Scorp?”

“Of course.” Scorpius is pretty certain he’ll see James around, but hasn’t much faith that they’ll speak again for some time. Still, formalities must be observed. He waves goodbye.

 

 

Later, as he and Professor Longbottom work their way through the rows of mandrakes, the Professor remarks curiously that he hadn’t known Scorpius and James were friends.

“Ah...no, not really,” Scorpius says, wiping the sweat from his brow. “It’s the first time I’ve spoken to him this year, I think. But you know James, he’s friendly with just about everyone.”

Neville Longbottom nods. “Well yes, I’m sure he is. Harry and Ginny raised him wonderfully, after all. And he’s got such a good head on his shoulders. Really, a spectacular boy. Although,” the Professor muses, “I do sometimes worry about him too.”

As Scorpius plucks a stray root from a squealing mandrake, he asks by way of idle conversation: “You worry about James? But he’s doing so well. Everyone thinks he’ll be wildly successful after graduation.”

“Well of course, there’s that,” Neville replies with a proud smile. “He is Harry’s son after all. But I do wonder if he hasn’t taken on too much.” He frowns contemplatively. “You were friends with Albus weren’t you? You must now that Ginny never did bond as well with Al, and now that he’s gone to the Continent and with Lily being the baby of the family, I’m afraid she’s put all her hopes on James and has been rather hard on the boy. And of course, Harry’s so busy, he barely has time to see James. I do fear that poor James feels the need to be, well, perfect in some sense. I wonder if that doesn’t take a toll on him.”

Scorpius listens with growing surprise. “I’d never really thought of that.”

Longbottom laughs fondly. “And why would you, m’dear? No, James does well enough. It’s only wild speculation on my part. I’m sure he’ll be quite as successful as your peers predict.”

 

~~

 

 

The Great Hall is rowdy as ever. Scorpius slides into place between Ernie and Jonathan and stares balefully at the empty plate of pumpkin pastries. He had been looking forward to the dessert all day, but alas...

“Where’ve you been?” Ernie garbles through a mouthful of food.

Scorpius wrinkles his brows in distaste but dutifully recounts his afternoon. “Could’ve saved some pastries for me, you know.”

His friends shrug. “Too bad, mate. It’s each man for himself here. You know we Hufflepuffs like our food.” Scorpius rolls his eyes and reaches for a piece of bread.

“Emily’s been looking for you, by the way.”

“Oh, did she need something?”

“Didn’t say.”

“All right.” Scorpius frowns as he thinks of something. “You know, don’t you guys think she’s been acting a bit strange recently?”

“Er...” Jonathan and Ernie share a look. “No. Nope. Not at all. Same girl.”

“Are you sure?” Scorpius prods. “I feel that she’s a bit...well, I don’t know. She treats me differently somehow...”

A tenuous pause.

“Perhaps,” Ernie suggests, “you find her more...womanly now?”

“What’s that?”

“That is, more charming? More beautiful? _Sexier—”_

“Ernie!” Scorpius interrupts, scandalized. “What in the world are you saying? She’s our friend! You can’t—you can’t just talk about her like that!”

Jonathan snorts and mumbles something under his breath. (Something that sounds suspiciously like you’ve got to be joking and we’re sixteen, for Merlin’s sake and maybe Scorpius hears the word hormones and sex, but he tries not to think of that.)

Before Scorpius has a chance to speak again, Emily herself approaches the table. She’s slightly out of breath and her cheeks are pinked from exertion. She slides into place across from Scorpius and steals glances at him from lowered lids. Scorpius can’t understand why, since she can very well just look him in the eye. He almost says as much, if not for Jonathan shooting him a warning glance.

“Scorpius, I’ve been looking for you all afternoon!” Emily exclaims after she settles herself. She presents to him a gift box wrapped in a large pink ribbon. Scorpius eyes it skeptically but accepts it.

“Well, open it!”

“Er, all right.” Scorpius smiles uncertainly, but his doubts are laid to rest when he sees what’s inside: a batch of freshly baked pumpkin pastries! They smell heavenly and Scorpius lights up. “Wow! These look amazing! And I was just complaining that all the pastries are gone. Are they for me?”

Emily grows pinker. “Well, yes. I know you like them and I was baking with the girls today and I thought I’d whip up a batch...tell me if you like them! I can make more, any time you want.”

“Thanks! This is great!” Scorpius bites into one and hums in pleasure. “And they’re delicious.” He offers the box to Jonathan, “Try one?”

“No thanks. They’re for you, obviously.”

Scorpius blinks. “I’m sure Emily won’t mind, right Em?”

“Well, I...I’d prefer if...” Emily stutters. “I mean, of course. It’s no big deal.”

“Right...” Scorpius isn’t sure if Emily means what she says, because she looks a bit annoyed now. But he can’t fathom why, so he takes the easy route and turns the box to Ernie. “They’re quite good, you should try one!”

Ernie groans. “No thanks. Also, are you daft?”

“What do you mean—”

“I just remembered, I’ve got to go.” Emily pushes up from the table. Her lower lip trembles and she throws an accusing glance at Scorpius before she stomps off, her brown curls flying dramatically behind her.

Scorpius blanches. “But you...but she just got here. Where’s she off to? Do you see what I mean, guys? She’s behaving so strangely!”

Jonathan slaps his forehead. “Mate, you need to work on this.”

“On what?” Scorpius exclaims, earnestly confused.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, she’s got a crush on you!”

“What?”

“And it’s so obvious; you must be the only person in Hufflepuff who hasn’t figured it out! And don’t tell me you haven’t seen the way Anna and Daisy have been staring at you?”

“What?” Scorpius screeches, and it’s rather undignified, but he can’t be bothered. “You’re joking!”

Ernie sighs morosely. “Merlin knows why all the women go for you. You’re as oblivious as a cow.”

“Hey now,” Scorpius frowns, “That’s not very nice—”

“—He’s got the whole blond pretty boy thing going for him, Ernie. We can’t compete. Women like that, you know—hair like spun gold, thin as a stick type.”

“Wait, I’m not—”

“—You’d think they’d go for masculinity, but no. It’s all about beauty and androgyny. They’re all bonkers if you ask me.”

“And actually,” Jonathan muses, “I’m not even sure how this happened. To Scorpius, I mean. Scorpius, you used to be such scrawny, pointy child, do you remember? Like really unattractive, I mean--”

“—Thanks so much for the kind comments—”

“—But then you turn up after summer looking all...willowy and, and...and pretty and stuff. It’s unbelievable.”

“Bollocks, really,” Ernie grumbles. “And he’s rich. Some people really do have it all. Heard you’ve even been turning the heads of some lads.”

Scorpius’s eyes widen. “Now you are having me on.”

“Nope. Should see the way Edmund eyes you.” Ernie snickers gleefully.

Jonathan chortles along too and asks, “So, will it be ladies or lads for you, Scorpius? You certainly have your pick.”

Scorpius frowns indignantly. “Don’t be silly. You’re making it up.”

“Come on now, Scorp. Don’t you fancy anyone? Because everyone seems to fancy you now. We won’t tell Emily, promise!”

Scorpius glares halfheartedly at Jonathan and turns away, refusing to partake in their ridiculous conversation. Turning the heads of lads? Please.

His eyes roam the room aimlessly as Jonathan and Ernie continue badgering. Then suddenly, they meet James Potter’s. He’s sitting at the Gryffindor table, swarmed as always by his ever-growing fan base. Scorpius thinks idly to himself that Jonathan is wrong; everyone fancies James Potter, not him, and clearly, masculinity is still attractive. After all, James is tall and broad where Scorpius is thin and lanky, and James must be made of at least twice as much muscle. _So there_.

As Scorpius finishes the thought, he notices with a start that James has been staring back this whole time. Scorpius blinks, wondering if it’s all in his mind. But no, the mild brown eyes are still gazing at Scorpius, and they now begin to look amused. The corners of James Potter’s lips lift into a slow smile.

Scorpius feels disconcerted, though he can’t say why. He turns away and lets himself fall back within the ambit of Jonathan’s inane but harmless chatter.

“—Scorpius? No one at all catches your eye?”

With a pronounced groan, Scorpius declares emphatically, _“No._ No one at all.”

 

~~

 

Sixth year moves along nicely. Scorpius settles into the comfortable if monotonous routine: classes, homework, friends, gardening. Some of his peers begin to show signs of strain, from love or grades or worries about careers. But not Scorpius. His life remains remarkably devoid of romance despite all the teasing, his grades are terrible to the point of being unsalvageable, and Life After Hogwarts is still a safe distance away.

It’s different for seventh years though. They spend their days pouring over dusty old tomes of knowledge in the library and they spend their nights tossing and turning in anxiety over the near future. Life After Hogwarts looms just beyond the horizon.

“I’d say the only person who isn’t worried is James Potter,” grumbles Stephen Pewter, a seventh year Gryffindor.

He and his friend Rafe Sanderson walk briskly towards their Defense Against Dark Arts class, where visiting aurors are to hold a special session explaining the work of the auror department and how to join the training program. Scorpius, whose on his way to his own class, trails a few steps behind and catches bits of their conversation. He hasn’t seen much of James beyond the norm since their greenhouse run-in, but Stephen and Rafe’s idle chatter reminds him suddenly of what Professor Longbottom’s had said that day. He listens curiously, almost despite himself.

“Why d’you say that?” asks Rafe.

“Because he isn’t like the rest of us mere mortals,” Stephen complains bitterly. “Not only is his father Harry bloody Potter, his father is also Head Auror. His own department isn’t likely to deny James’s application, now is it?”

“But has he decided to apply for sure? Last I heard, he was still talking about quidditch.”

“Oh please, as if. The son of Harry Potter isn’t likely to be some second rate quidditch player, let’s be honest. James is good but not that good. Risky career at best. And auror is a much more respectable profession, especially for someone with James’s grades.”

“I suppose that’s true enough,” Rafe concedes. “Well, I’m sure he’s qualified to be an auror, if he wants to be. He is top of our class. And he’s Head Boy, and a nice enough chap all around. I’ll admit I’m not close to him, but he’s always been friendly.”

“Well, that’s just the thing! Sure, he’s friendly and all that and he’s got his group of followers. But he hasn’t got any real friends, has he? I just don’t think I really trust him. Don’t you find him a bit odd...?” Stephen’s voice abruptly trails off as they approach the DADA classroom. Class hasn’t yet begun; a group of aurors hover by the closed door, mingling with students.

“But look, there’s James now,” Stephen whispers. “And he’s standing with Harry Potter himself. Don’t suppose he’ll have any trouble at all getting into the program.”

Behind them, Scorpius rolls his eyes. Where would James stand, if not with his own father? But out of curiosity, he too darts a quick glance at the Potters. The two of them are at the center of the crowd, but that only sets them apart from everyone else. There’s a peculiar gap between father and son, as if they don’t want to be too close. James wears a polite if blank smile. Mr. Potter, though physically imposing (if a bit short), looks as if his mind has wandered elsewhere, but the students are too awestruck to approach him and pull him back. Scorpius is struck by how much he looks like an older, more fatigued version of Albus.

“You wouldn’t know they were father and son just by looking at them,” Rafe muses quietly. “Completely different coloring. Indeed, they don’t even look that comfortable with each other.”

Stephen shrugs, disinterested. “Who knows. But James is definitely getting into the program while the rest of us ...”

Stephen again trails off. He and Rafe approach James and break into friendly smiles. James, too, drops his blank expression, grins widely, and greets them as if they were old pals of his.

“Stephen, Rafe, good morning!”

“Morning, mate! Missed you at breakfast.”

“Yes, had to come a bit early to see—Dad, you’ve met Rafe and Stephen? They’re good friends of mine—”

“Honor to meet you, Mr. Potter—”

Scorpius turns the corner and misses the rest of their conversation.

 

 

He runs into James serendipitously again a few nights later at the library. The place is almost completely deserted, and Scorpius wouldn’t be have chosen to be there either had it not been for Professor Longbottom’s urgent last-minute question on the uses of the African Spotted Wood Ear.

The Herbology section of the library is the most secluded and few students besides Scorpius ever go there at all. It is thus with some surprise that he sees James sitting by himself at one of the section’s empty tables. James’s thick N.E.W.T. study books are stacked neatly to one side while he stares blankly at a piece of parchment set before. Scorpius’s footsteps startle him into attention.

“Sorry,” Scorpius says as he squeezes past James to reach the books on African species.

James scoots in to give him more room. He watches Scorpius browse the books with a tired smile. “You’re here late.”

“Last minute research for Professor Longbottom.”

“So hardworking,” James teases lightly. “You’re awfully dedicated to this whole plant venture, aren’t you? Going to be a herbologist?”

“Haven’t thought about it really,” Scorpius answers absently. “I could be. I do like it—Ah! Found it.” He grabs the worn old book off the shelf with relief. “Do you mind if I join you at this table? It won’t take long.”

“Of course.”

 

 

Scorpius is making detailed notes on the effects of Wood Ear on magical burns when he feels the familiar prickling sensation of James’s stare. He almost rolls his eyes to himself, because, really James Potter, again?

“Sorry,” James says, embarrassed at having been caught. “I was just thinking that you’re very absorbed in this work.”

“Oh, yes,” Scorpius replies, confused. “I mean, that’s why I do it. I find it interesting.”

“I see. Yes, that must be nice.”

James stops there and lets his words hang in silence. Scorpius watches him uncertainly for a few seconds, waiting for more. But when nothing else is said, he turns back to his book and begins to peruse again while attempting to suppress the feeling of discomfiture that’s begun to swell within him.

Of course, that’s when James chooses to speak again. “Scorp, do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” says Scorpius, though he’s getting rather antsy over this research. “What is it?”

“Would you ever...that is, say you decide to be a herbologist,” James posits. He looks down now at his piece of parchment, brown eyes hidden by a curtain of ginger lashes. “But your parents are strongly opposed, because they find it to be a frivolous career or something of that nature. Would you—what would you do?”

Scorpius nibbles on the end of his quill thoughtfully. “I don’t think my parents would be opposed, actually.”

“No, but suppose they are,” James insists. “Suppose they think you have no future if you choose this path. Suppose, just hypothetically, that you love what you do but you’re not all that good at it and you certainly won’t be the best at it. Would you do it anyway?

“Erm.” It’s an odd topic for a late night chat with omeone who’s become barely more than a stranger and Scorpius is reluctant to answer. He settles for a half-hearted, “Well, sure, I guess I would. Or rather, if I can convince them that it’s a career I truly want, I doubt they’ll mind much.”

“Do you really think so?” James asks doubtfully. “Won’t they be disappointed?”

“I suppose they might be...Perhaps for awhile. If they really opposed me. But James, if you want to know the truth, I don’t think they’d really care. They’ve never been disappointed before, not even when I failed to get a single O on my O.W.L.s. I doubt they’d stop me from doing something just because I won’t be the best at it. Because then they wouldn’t let me do anything at all!” Scorpius says with an amused chuckle. He quickly silences himself when he sees James’s look of bewilderment. “You got all Os, didn’t you?” he grumbles. “No wonder you worry so much about all this. Well look, don’t they say that all parents eventually support their children? As long as they’re happy? Something like that?”

James stares at him ponderously. It makes Scorpius feel as if he’d said something immensely stupid, so he shuts up and looks back down at his book. It’s when he averts his eyes that he notices the parchment before James is the application for the auror training program.

“Oh!” he exclaims. He begins to understand. “Do you ask because your parents are against your joining the aurors after graduation?”

James laughs humorlessly. “No, hardly that. They couldn’t be happier if I joined. It’s precisely what they want.”

Scorpius blinks in confusion. “But then...but you want it too, don’t you? Everyone says so.”

James doesn’t answer. His expression grows progressively darker as he glares at the application, incinerating it with his eyes. Scorpius watches him with wordless surprise. It’s not a very James like thing to do. He hasn’t seen James glare at anyone or anything like that since, well, since first year, when he was still Scorpius’s friend.

The lights dim, signifying that library is about to close. James takes a quiet deep breath and recomposes himself. It takes only a moment for him to return to his usual mild manners. He smiles apologetically at Scorpius.

“Sorry, that was strange. It’s—I’m afraid—I’m afraid I’m not quite myself tonight,” he explains. “It’s just that what used to be the future is now so near and I don’t know that I’m ready for it.”

Scorpius tilts his head, puzzled. He thinks of Professor’s Longbottom’s words again and can’t stop himself from asking, “What do you want?”

James gazes wistfully out the window towards the dark night sky. “I hardly know. Perhaps I just want to fly.”

When the lights dim some more, James shakes himself out his reverie. He folds his application carefully and slips it into his bag. With an armful of N.E.W.T. books, he turns to Scorpius and says, “I’m afraid I disturbed your research.”

Scorpius quickly assures him that it’s all right and that he can check out the book for reference. They walk out together under the suspicious glare of Madam Pince and make the usual polite small talk until they reach the point where they go their separate ways to Gryffindor and Hufflepuff.

“Good night, James.” Scorpius almost breathes in relief. The conversation this evening has been much too strange, and he’s ready to settle down with his book in bed.

James doesn’t speak for a moment. He studies Scorpius in the flickering torchlight.

“You know, I always remember you as the little boy who cried to himself in the corridors,” he remarks ruefully.

Scorpius starts at the abrupt invocation of the past.

“But now you’re all grown up,” James muses. ”And it’s I who needs comfort. Ironic.” The older boy’s lips quirk into a self-deprecating half smile. “But thank you for listening. Good night, Scorp.”

Scorpius blinks, and James is gone.

 

~~

 

Friday afternoon finds Scorpius alone on the quidditch field, picking up odds and ends as the rest of the team heads off to after-practice showers.

Joining the quidditch team had been a mistake. Scorpius has known this for a long time, but at no time does he feel the regret as strongly as he does when left with clean up duties just before an impending storm.

_Come on Scorpius, we need you!_

_Yeah mate, you’d be great!_

_Don’t you want to play with us?_

Lies. All lies.

It had begun innocuously. Scorpius was so young and excited and eager to please so of course I’ll help clean up after practice, which soon became of course I’ll help organize the storeroom. And because Scorpius never made it off the reserves, he apologetically agreed that of course I can take care of everything, you guys go ahead as I’m sure you’re all tired from practicing. Then his role, to no one’s surprise except perhaps his own, became accepted routine..

He sighs lamentably. On days like this, when the wind cuts at his face like knives, he can’t help but feel that he was tricked.

“Having some trouble?” a voice says from behind him.

Scorpius jumps in surprise and almost drops the quaffles he’s holding. He hadn’t heard anyone approach him, couldn’t hear really over the howl of the wind. Luckily, his toes are spared, but his heart is still pounding when he whips around to confront the person.

It’s James, looking half-concerned and half-mirthful. “Careful with the quaffles there. Shall I take one?”

“Er, no I’m fine. Startled, that’s all.”

“Sorry about that, thought you’d have heard me.”

Scorpius tells him it’s nothing to worry about but James insists on taking a quaffle. They amble together towards the storeroom.

“Been seeing you a lot lately, James,” Scorpius says, for lack of nothing better to say.

“You sound suspicious.”

“No, not at all. Though I am surprised. What are you doing at here anyway?”

“Afternoon stroll,” is James’s bright response.

“In this weather?” Scorpius exclaims, staring at the other boy incredulously.

“Whatever do you mean, this weather? It’s a beautiful afternoon!”

Another gust of wind sweeps past them. Thunder sounds in the distance. Scorpius mumbles huh uncertainly.

“Oh, all right. It’s not the most scenic weather,” James concedes. “And if you must know the truth, I’m...hiding.”

“Hiding? From what?”

“Er.” James stalls, then says with an embarrassed grin, “It’s just silly, really. I was feeling rebellious and ran out here to evade some duties.”

Scorpius rolls his eyes. “You and everyone else at this school. No one does his duties anymore,” he laments.

James laughs. “Yes, it does seem that way from the complete absence of your teammates. How in the world did you get stuck cleaning up all by yourself?”

“I haven’t a clue,” Scorpius grumbles mournfully. “It makes one feel rather taken advantaged of.”

“I’m sure. You shouldn’t let them.”

Scorpius smiles fondly. “No, but I don’t suppose I really mind that much. They’re a good bunch otherwise.”

This seems to surprise James. He peers at Scorpius thoughtfully before shaking his head in mock disappointment. “You’re too nice, Scorp.”

Scorpius gives a nonchalant half-shrug with his free arm.

They walk in silence for a few moments with only the whistle of the wind and the rumbles of thunder filling in the gaps in their conversation. Then James begins to explain: “Dueling club starts up again today. Right now, actually. They wanted me to help initiate the second years, be their special mentor and all that.”

“Why that sounds fun!” Scorpius says. “I’m not much good at dueling, but I’m sure the second years would appreciate your help.”

“Perhaps,” James agrees, though his tone suggests otherwise. “But it’s just that...Well, I don’t know. I suppose it felt like an imposition today and I wanted to get away. Then I saw you from the window—or your hair, more specifically, and I suddenly wanted to get out of that stuffy old castle. So here I am.” He smiles wryly and adds, “Makes me sound rather awful, doesn’t it? Don’t know why I told you that.

Scorpius chuckles. “I’m sure the second years can manage without you.”

This surprises James too, though Scorpius can’t fathom why. “You don’t think I’m terrible? I mean, I think they were counting on me...”

“Oh, I don’t know. It doesn’t really sound like such a big deal. I think it’s all right. Everyone understands, especially when it’s something small like that.”

James nods in agreement though his eyes betray a hint of uncertainty. “Yes, I think you’re right. It’s really not such a big deal, is it?”

Scorpius nods, hoping James will accept his silent assurance. They put away the quaffles among the other equipment and Scorpius turns to lock up the storeroom. But just before he slides the lock into place, James asks, “Say, since I’m out here anyway, would you like to play a game of quidditch with me?”

Scorpius freezes mid-motion, turns, and levels James with a stare of disbelief. “Wait, what’s that? You want to play? In this weather?” _Do you have a death wish?_

James grins, all appearance of insecurity having vanished. “Sure! I was actually thinking that it’d be nice to fly again when I decided to come out, and what’s more exciting than flying in a storm?”

“Erm. Well.” Scorpius stalls. Of course, he knows James’s love for flying—everyone knows--and he knows that James hasn’t had much of chance this year after he quit the quidditch team to focus on his N.E.W.T.s and Head Boy duties. But all the same, Scorpius thinks it rather unfair for James to drag him into this. “You know,” he tries, “There’s exciting, and then there’s dangerous. I think your understanding of this distinction could use a little work.”

James rolls his eyes and tosses Scorpius a broom. “Oh Scorp, let’s live a little! It’s my last year, you know! After this, I won’t have a chance to do anything spontaneous ever again! And I haven’t played against you in years. One last game, for old time’s sake?” he pleads.

Scorpius wants to say no, that it’s too risky, that it’s about to rain, that he’s hungry and wants to go back for dinner. That the reason they haven’t played for years is because James has been ignoring him for years and there’s hardly cause for him to indulge James now.

But James implores him with a sense of earnestness, a plea that expresses a degree of vulnerability he’s never seen from James. Scorpius thinks of their stilted conversation in the library from just days ago, recalls James’s hateful glare, remembers the way he says he wants to fly. Scorpius thinks that perhaps this isn’t just a game of quidditch for James. Perhaps it’s precisely the danger of the act, the rebellion in the gesture, that he so craves and needs.

 

And well, Scorpius has never been particular good at saying no.

 

 

The regret hits immediately. The wind is colder up high, and while James glides smoothly among the currents, Scorpius flounders. The snitch has disappeared, and Scorpius soon begins to lose feeling in his cold, numbed fingers.

But all the same, when he hears James shouting challenges at him over the howl of the wind, he feels a familiar sense of exhilaration. And he realizes that it’s not just a game of quidditch for him, either. It’s the reenactment of a cherished memory, bringing to mind those evenings many years ago, small Scorpius chasing small James, harboring naïve thoughts of earning James’s respect and affection. It was so silly of him, and over the years, he had come to view that as the cause for losing Albus. But now that he relives these memories, he finds that they aren’t, perhaps, as painful as he had believed them to be.

When the first drops of icy rain splatters mercilessly on his face, he can’t help but laugh. Maybe the rain can wash away the intervening years. Scorpius is nothing if not hopeful.

The snitch reappears; it flutters close to the ground, a golden speck descending in what resembles free fall. Scorpius sees it in the corner of his eye and knows that James has spotted it too. They dive.

Down, down, down—James speeds past Scorpius, and no matter how hard Scorpius tries, he can’t catch up. But that’s all right; Scorpius can’t stop smiling. He never expected to win against James anyway. Still, he’s right behind James when James curls his fingers around the winged sphere, and they can’t quite maneuver themselves the right way, so they end up tumbling to the ground in a heap of entangled limbs.

When they finally come to a standstill, Scorpius is sprawled atop James, who’s lying on his back. He’s breathless with laughter. “James Potter, that was a terrible idea,” he admonishes between wheezes.

James props himself up by his elbows, his back angled 45 degrees from the ground and his face leaning towards Scorpius. He’s breathing hard but grinning, too; his face lights up with surprisingly carefree joy.

“Scorpius Malfoy,” he counters, “It was a brilliant idea, and you know it.”

Scorpius shakes his head ruefully—water splatters everywhere from the fine blond strands, and James sputters when they hit him in the face.

“Stop that!” he commands playfully as he reaches one hand up to hold Scorpius’s head still. “You’re getting water everywhere.”

“James, it’s raining,” Scorpius retorts, swatting James’s hand away. “We’re surrounded by water anyway.”

James laughs but stubbornly brings up his hand again to smooth Scorpius’s hair back in place. “Your hair, it’s so long now.”

The gesture gives Scorpius pause. It is strangely intimate, especially with James staring at his face from such a close distance, so close that Scorpius can see the dark specks of his pupils, and it suddenly dawns on Scorpius that their current positions aren’t entirely appropriate. Embarrassed, he pushes James’s hand away once more and scrambles up.

“Well,” he says with a cough. James looks amused as he too rises from the ground and dusts himself off.

“I’d better—er—we’d better go back. You’re not still hiding?” Scorpius asks tentatively, suddenly remembering the original cause of James’s woes.

“No, I don’t think so,” James replies with another laugh “Dueling club will have ended.”

“Shall we go then?”

“Let’s.”

As they walk, two drenched figures in the pouring rain, Scorpius briefly feels eleven again, sharing a secret moment with the school idol that no one else will ever know about.

Moments before they reach the castle, James slows to a pause. He turns to Scorpius and parts his lips hesitantly. “Scorp, you really...you really don’t care do you?”

“What?” Scorpius studies James with his clear blue eyes, trying to puzzle out this boy who’s becoming less familiar by the minute. Here’s another side to James he hasn’t seen before, a James who looks his age and exhibits all the uncertainty of a boy on the cusp of adulthood.

“That I’m not...always a good person?”

“Oh,” says Scorpius. “No, why would I? No one is.”

And he supposes that deep down, he’s always known that James isn’t the person he appears to be.

 

~~

 

A few days later, Hogwarts is in an uproar. James Potter has, at long last, found a new girlfriend. His last one had been in third year, and that had been little more than a childish fling.

“Eleanor Moore,” Jonathan explains, “is the most beautiful Ravenclaw _ever.”_

She’s tall, thin, and endowed with flowing flaxen hair and eyes the color of summer skies. She’s smart and kind, well-read and well-spoken, and on top of all that, she comes from a good family, her father occupying a high position at the ministry and her mother a powerful figure in the nonprofit world.

“Like, if you could dream up a woman, you would dream up someone like her,” Ernie says breathlessly. “How have you not noticed her, all these years?”

“Huh,” says Scorpius. He squints at her from across the Great Hall. She’s sitting next to James at the Gryffindor table, her head tilted towards his shoulder. They wear identical happy smiles and are surrounded by an assortment of Potters and Weasleys. Everyone looks pleased.

“She looks rather familiar though,” Scorpius remarks, puzzled.

Ernie tilts his head in thought, then looks at Scorpius. “Hmm. You don’t say.”

 

James and Eleanor are the talk of the town for days after.

 _They’re so adorable,_ so the girls coo.

 _James is a lucky man,_ the boys grumble.

Stephen remarks snidely to Rafe that James could run for Minister of Magic with Eleanor on his arms; they look like the perfect politician power couple. Rafe, a kinder boy, replies blithely that they look very happy together.

And for awhile, they do. While never overtly affectionate, they are nevertheless enshrouded in a bubble of exuberance when they sit together at the Great Hall or when they walk together in the corridors or when James carries Eleanor’s books for her and Eleanor straightens James’s tie. They are the picture of romantic bliss.

Perhaps that’s why people are so surprised when things begin to go wrong, and so quickly, too. No one knows what happens exactly, or why, but James begins to fade away. Eleanor walks alone again more often than not, and when James is there, his face looks pinched and tired. When people ask, Eleanor explains with a strained smile that he’s just busy with N.E.W.T.s.

_But why don’t they study together? They used to, in the library. Looked very pretty together too._

_I hear she cries in the bathroom late at night. Jessica heard her, just bawling._

_But it’s only been a few weeks, hasn’t it? What do you suppose went wrong?_

_Heard they aren’t compatible in bed, if you know what I mean._ Raucous laughter.

_Do you think it’s James? Where does he go these days anyway? I never see him anymore._

 

~~

 

“James, my boy, here again? This must be the third time this week! I almost see you more than Scorpius!”

“Do you mind, Professor? I like that no one can find me here. It’s the perfect study spot, really.”

“Of course not,” says Neville Longbottom cheerfully. “I couldn’t be happier to see you. You’re always welcome here, Jamie. And Scorpius enjoys your company too, I’m sure.”

Scorpius nods absently in agreement as he concentrates on shelving their new order of seeds from plants that grow in the forests of Indonesia. The professor gives him an encouraging pat on the shoulder before bidding them goodbye; he has afternoon class to teach.

James meanders over to the shelves. “You don’t mind, do you, Scorp?” he asks nonchalantly, though perhaps there’s note of insecurity in there as well.

“Mind what?”

“Mind that I’m here all the time. It’s just so peaceful here, that’s all. No one else ever comes. But if I’m disturbing you, and you’d rather me gone, you can let me know...”

Scorpius finishes shelving the last jar of fungus before turning his attention to James. James is leaning lazily against the shelf, his long legs kicking idly at the dust on the ground and his eyes peering at a shrub some feet away, looking as if he isn’t at all concerned about Scorpius’s response. But the sheer transparency of his anxiety wrings a laugh from Scorpius. “Please, James, you know I don’t mind your company at all. You barely make any noise. All you ever do here is study.”

“Now that’s not true,” James protests with mock petulance. “Sometimes I help you with your gardening. Just yesterday, I helped you pull thorny weeds, did I not? And I even suffered injuries for my efforts.” He reaches out his scratched hands for Scorpius to view, as if showing off battle scars. “And not a word of thanks from you!”

Scorpius rolls his eyes with a smile. “All right. Thank you, James, you big baby.” James grins brightly.

“Although, since you ask,” Scorpius continues, a bit more seriously, “don’t you think you ought to tell Eleanor that you’re here? I hear she’s always looking for you these days.”

James’s grin dissolves and he returns to scuffing at the ground with his boots with a downcast gaze. “Why does everyone think I have to tell her everything?”

“Well, hardly _everything._ But you are dating her so I suppose she’d have a right to know—”

“She doesn’t have a right to anything,” James says abruptly, viciously almost.

Scorpius furrows his brows and bites at his lower lip uncertainly. “Well, maybe not _right_ then. But shouldn’t you want to tell her? So that she feels better? There are rumors that...that she’s been sad, and well, I do feel awfully sorry for her.”

James frowns silently, clenching and unclenching his calloused fingers. Scorpius wonders if he should say something, something soothing perhaps, as James does look so angry. He’s just begun to part his lips when James lets out a soft sigh.

“I’m sorry, Scorp. I’m not angry at you,” he says, apologetic. He sounds strangely lost. “Maybe I...perhaps I shouldn’t have asked her out. It was on a whim, you know. And she’s a nice girl, Eleanor. But she always...she always wanted me to be there, wanted my attention. And at first, that was all right. But then she kept wanting more—“ his words tumble out faster now, more exasperated—“Why don’t you kiss me more? Why don’t you hold my hand? Don’t you want to have sex? Do you even like me? She kept asking and asking and I just—I don’t—how can I tell her _no?_ I don’t like her? I hardly like her at all.”

A tense silence descends upon them when James finishes speaking. James himself seems to deflate slowly as the anger seeps out of him, only to be replaced by a helpless frustration. Scorpius watches the transformation uneasily and struggles for a response.

Finally, he shuffles over to James and gives him an awkward pat on the shoulder. “It’s all right, James. Everyone gets confused sometimes. I’m sure if you just tell her and explain yourself...she’ll understand. Er. Eventually.”

James quirks his lips in a sad imitation of a smile. “You know, Scorp. I often think that you’re the only person who never expects anything from me.”

Scorpius blinks at the sudden change in topic.

“Even now, I find it strange that you tolerate me and talk to me. It’s almost like you’ve forgiven me.”

“Forgiven you? For what?”

“You know what,” says James enigmatically. A strange thought flits through Scorpius’s head: it’s just like James to refuse to even name his transgressions. But Scorpius doesn’t dwell on this. He’s never been one to dwell, so to speak. Maybe that’s what James means, why James seeks him out again after all these years.

“Anyway, you’re right. I’ll speak to her one of these days.” James stretches his long, muscled limbs and leans back against the shelf more comfortably. Scorpius knows he’s recovered from his bout of brooding.

The skies begin to darken even though it’s hardly past four. Late autumn is like that; nighttime springs upon you and catches you unawares. With a quick apology, Scorpius returns to his shelving task so that he can finish before dinner.

James shuffles closer to watch him work; in fact, he’s so close that Scorpius catches occasional whiffs of his cologne, a clean and crisp scent. Scorpius’s noticed that James has been casually shortening their distance lately, quietly hovering beside him when he works. It makes him feel a bit anxious, though it's not altogether unpleasant, and Scorpius doesn’t want to be rude in pushing him away.

But today, Scorpius feels more antsy than normal, perhaps due to the gravity of their conversation just now. James’s wordless watching unnerves him. To fill the unbearable silence, Scorpius blurts, “Anyway, James, if you don’t like her, why did you date her?”

James looks taken aback for a moment. Then he shrugs carelessly—“Who knows,” he says—which annoys Scorpius, though there isn’t any reason for it. He emphatically turns away and concentrates on reaching for a jar on the top shelf, straining from his tiptoes. To his side, James laughs. The taller boy leans over Scorpius and easily fetches the jar just beyond his reach. For one brief moment, Scorpius feels the strange sensation of his own smaller body being completely enveloped by James.

When Scorpius takes the jar, fingers brushing against James’s for a split second, he feels his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. He murmurs a flustered thanks to the other boy.

James grins wider, a white toothy grin on that fits perfectly with his friendly face. Or, at least, much more perfectly than the stupid mopey look that he often wears these days when walks the corridors of the castle. The grin accentuates his handsomeness, somehow. Scorpius quickly turns away again.

Just as he turns his back, James remarks casually with a cheeky smile and quirked brow, “You know Scorp, maybe I chose to date her because I happen to like blondes.” His brown eyes peer pensively at Scorpius’s gleaming yellow strands.

 

 

~~

 

Scorpius had smiled hesitantly. It was clearly a joke. But late that night, when Scorpius stares at his own reflection in the dirty bathroom mirror, he begins to compose in his head:

_Dear Albus,_

_How are you? I keep running into your brother these days, and he’s become progressively stranger. Today, he joked with me that he likes blondes. But there was something strange about the way he looked at me as he said it. (I’m blonde, if you’ll remember). Anyway, I wonder if he was more serious than he let on. And if he was, what does he mean to say—_

“Scorpius, are you done in there?”

The letter dispels in an instant.

“I’ll be right out,” Scorpius yells back. He takes one last, doubtful look at his reflection, shakes his head, and walks away.

 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delayed update. This chapter was much harder to write than I had envisioned. Thanks to everyone who has read and commented--I really do appreciate all your feedback, so so much! Hope this chapter was enjoyable :)


	7. 7

-6-  
  
A strange series of events take place before they leave for Christmas hols. It begins one day when a large brown owl drops a small, pastel-wrapped package before a surprised Scorpius at the breakfast table. The dining hall is still relatively empty in these early hours. The few seventh year Hufflepuffs that occupied the table swiftly glance Scorpius's way in question. Their curiosity soon gives way to excited exclamations when he unwraps the gift to reveal a box of freshly baked macarons from the new French confectionary in Hogsmeade.  
  
"Well, who's it from then?" Jonathan asks impatiently. Any appearance of sleepiness had vanished.  
  
Scorpius stares at the gift in confusion-- _probably from mum_ , he thinks-- but dutifully reads aloud the card that accompanies the box: "Hope you like sweets, though you are infinitely sweeter. Forever Yours . . . _Admirer_? What the—"  
  
"A secret admirer! Scorpius has got a secret admirer!" Emily cries for all to hear, impervious to her friend’s obvious embarrassment.  
  
"And a disgustingly cheesy one at that," laughs Ernie, though not without a grimace. "Sure it wasn't from you, Em?"  
  
Emily shoots him a quick glare. "I'm _over_ him,” she declares emphatically. “I _have_ _been_ for _months_.”

  
Ernie shrugs. "If you say so. But if these aren't from you, who are they from? Do you know, Scorpius?"  
  
"—Don’t think I do, actually—"  
  
"Well don't ask him” Jonathan interjects. “When does he know anything, ever? Haven't met a more clueless bloke in my life—don’t make the face, mate, you know it’s true. Here, let's just ask—does anyone here know who Scorpius's secret admirer is?" Jonathan shouts gleefully, his voice resonating across the Great Hall. Scorpius frantically tries to shush him, to no avail. He instead yells louder: "Whoever you are, show yourself! Scorpius wants to know too!"  
  
Scorpius reddens perceptibly as all eyes focus on him. Even the non-Hufflepuffs at other tables peer his way, some clearly laughing and others merely curious. He feels most embarrassed than ever when he sees that James Potter is among the onlookers. Scorpius wonders how it’s just his luck that James always seems to be around these days to witness his mortification. James raises his brow in question when he meets Scorpius's eye from halfway across the room. 

Scorpius shrugs helplessly to the wordless query. He turns to Jonathan and punches him half-heartedly in the arm: "You're the worst, mate"  
  
Jonathan grins with pride.  


 

 

Over the next few weeks, a pile begins to accumulate by Scorpius's bedside. The objects of the mysterious courtship take various forms--a bouquet of enchanted, ever-blooming roses, a leather-bound book of hand written sonnets, several boxes of premium chocolates—all rather useless, Scorpius thinks.  
  
(“But they’re all pretty expensive. At least you know the person’s probably well off,” Ernie commented wistfully. Scorpius quipped in response: “ _I'm_ pretty well off, you know.)  
  
"Maybe he thinks you're a girl," Emily suggests as she pops in another piece of Belgian chocolate. She smiles in delight when she discovers it’s her favorite kind, one filled with oozing caramel.  
  
"That’s absurd,” Scorpius sputters unhappily. “Why would he—wait a minute, why do you keep saying it’s a _he_? What makes you so sure? For all you know, it could be a pretty girl, like a cute and shy fifth year.”

  
Ernie snickers. “Is that your type, Scorpius? But anyway, the guy’s giving you chocolates and flowers, like..." _Need I say more_?  
  
"Well, he— _she_ , I mean, did get me quidditch gloves too. Which is ... manly..."  
  
"Right...sure it is, if you actually _played_. It’s too bad--those are some beautiful gloves, and you’ll never get a chance to show them off."  
  
"What are you talking about, Em? Of course I will, I'm on the team!"  
  
"Yeah, as the designated cleaning boy," Emily deadpans.  
  
Scorpius frowns and mutters maliciously, “Better watch your figure. Bet you’re going to grow fat from eating all those chocolates.”  
  
Emily petulantly pelts Scorpius with one of said chocolates ( _that’s fucking rude, Scorpius_ ) and Ernie clucks over the loss of the pricey treat. Jonathan rolls his eyes and slaps him upside the head, telling him to focus.

  
"Look, guys," Jonathan commands as he flops atop Scorpius's bed with mock exasperation. "The important q now, _obviously_ , is to figure out who our lovely Scorpius’s mysterious secret admirer is.”  
  
"How about handsome instead of lovely?" Scorpius suggests hopefully. He's promptly ignored.  
  
"But really Scorpius, can't you think of anyone?” 

“For the millionth time, _no._ ”

“No one at all? Who’d go to all this trouble to woo you? Come on, can’t you think of any rich bloke who’s suddenly taken a sudden interest in you? Anyone you’ve never really noticed, but then when you look up, he’s always around, watching you? No?”

A brief impression of brown eyes and reddish hair flashes unwittingly before Scorpius's eyes. He blinks the image away and shakes his head.  
  
"Jonathan, stop that,” he complains. “There’s no rich bloke, ok? It’s a beautiful fifth year— _girl—_ I just know it.”

"Really?" Jonathan muses doubtfully. "Because I was thinking Edmund. The Ravenclaw, you know? The one who stares at you like a creep. Heard his parents are landed nobility—well I guess you are too—and he’s not so bad looking. Very muscled, and you could bottom—”

“Oh my god—what even— _stop_!”

 

  
~a~

 

  
  
The most impressive gift is delivered straight to the greenhouse, and it’s markedly different from the others. It’s the only one Scorpius finds remotely interesting; he places it carefully on one of the display shelves at the greenhouse's entrance and studies it with a look of wonder.

  
James wanders over from the little stone table where he's been working on his N.E.W.T. studies. Over the past few weeks, he’s slowly conquered the area, and the table is now piled high with thick wizarding tomes. Scorpius still blanches sometimes when his eyes land on the books; he shudders to think that, come next year, he might inherit the table and the miserable life of a Seventh Year examinee.  
  
"What's that?" James asks, peering curiously at the glass jar Scorpius has just shelved.  
  
"It’s a terrarium! Haven’t you ever seen one? It's like a miniature ecosystem in a jar."  
  
"So like a tiny greenhouse," James mutters, curiosity giving way to disinterested apathy.  
  
"Sure, only it’s alive too. I hear muggles can do it just with the glass, but for us wizards, the entire jar is spelled to keep the system going so that everything in it grows and dies the same as they would in their natural habitats. Some jars even come with the seasons, though I’m not sure about this one. Anyway, it's as if you're looking into a tiny world, a shrunken but exact replica of the real thing," Scorpius explains, his blue eyes glued to the glass jar and his voice filled with reverential awe. "I have a ton at home, actually, but this one is really special.”

“Oh, how so?”

“It’s a recreation of the cave at the bottom of the Island of Guadalupe. The cave’s guarded by the man-eating white sharks of the Pacific, and apparently, only the merpeople of the area can access the cave and excavate these species. And even then, they only ever excavate a bit of it. I can’t _imagine_ how expensive this must have been. You know, I’ve always wanted one, but I didn’t want to bother Father--oh no, I'm boring you, aren't I?" Scorpius laughs apologetically as he catches James staring at him, lips quirked slightly at the corners.

The expression has become a familiar one over the past few weeks as Scorpius has increasingly found himself engaging in idle chatter with the elder Potter. He’s come to realize that whenever he goes on for too long about some obscure plant trivia—which is far too often, actually—he would eventually look over to find James wearing this half smile of his. At first, Scorpius wondered if it was James’s way of expressing interest or amusement, but he later came to doubt himself—because who could find his archaic stories interesting?—and concluded that it must be some warped manifestation of inner boredom.

James chuckles and shakes his head. "No. But," he muses, now studying the jar with renewed interest, "The plants here don’t look like they belong at the bottom of the ocean. I mean, this one here looks like some fruit tree.”  
  
"Well, yeah, and that's what makes this cave so brilliant!" Scorpius exclaims, excitement returned. "Legend has it that a Spanish prince traveled to the island in the sixteenth century in search of gold, but instead of finding wealth and fortune, he was stricken by a tropical fever. A beautiful merprincess found him dying on the beach and nursed him back to health. And when he regained consciousness, the prince immediately fell in love with the princess--"  
  
"Scorp, are you trying to sell me some variation of the little mermaid?” asks James with barely concealed amusement. “Did the princess find some wizard to turn her human and then live happily ever after with her prince?”  
  
" _No_ , James, that’s _not_ what happens,” says Scorpius impishly. “Actually, the princess didn’t care for the prince at all. She only felt sorry for him and didn't have the heart to leave him dying on the sand like a beached whale. But the prince was so in love with with her that he parked himself on the beach and refused to leave. In fact, he was about to drown himself when an old wizard on the island took pity on him and thought of a way for him to live with the mermaid."  
  
"By putting him in a cave at the bottom of the ocean?”  
  
"Exactly! The wizard made him a cave where no water could ever enter, and that tree you see there bore the fruits that the prince subsisted off of, and he lived there for the rest of his life."  
  
"Sounds like a pretty shitty life,” James remarks sardonically. “And the princess? Was she touched by his...perseverance?"  
  
"Hmm...no, don’t think so. But she did continue feeling sorry for him, especially when he grew into a lonely old man and still couldn't leave the cave. I think by then, even _he_ had fallen out of love and just wanted to go home to Spain. Only, he didn’t know how since the wizard had died, and the princess felt so guilty about the situation that she stuck around to keep him company. Anyway, no one really found their happy ending in this story—they were both just stuck in a relationship that neither wanted. Actually,” Scorpius finishes with a wry laugh, “it's supposed to be cautionary tale about the stupid things people do out of ‘love.’ Makes me wonder if he knew the story when he bought this for me.”  
  
"He?"  
  
"Oh, my admirer, you know? The one who's been giving me gifts. You must have heard about him by now—I think the whole school has,” explains Scorpius with a roll of his eyes.  
  
James frowns. "Sure, I’ve heard some things, though not much. I didn’t know he got you such unique...anyway, _he?_ So you know who he is?"  
  
"Well no, but everyone is convinced that he's a he."

"And you...you don't mind?" James queries hesitantly.  
  
"Mind? Oh, that my admirer is a man? I mean, I’m still holding out hope that it’s a pretty girl, but it is what it is, I guess."  
  
James laughs uncertainly at this. "It’s just that most guys I know would probably be freaking out. Doesn’t it bother you...I mean, it’s not exactly normal, is it?” Scorpius shrugs, but James seems strangely fixated on the topic. He presses: “Haven’t you given this any thought though? Like, you like girls, don’t you?”

Scorpius nibbles on his lower lip as he thinks about this. “I guess so? I mean, I haven’t ever _liked_ anyone—”

“—But you’re sixteen, surely—”

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Scorpius asks with a self-conscious laugh. “Everyone says I’m really slow about this. But I just haven’t—anyway, I assume I like girls, but then again, it doesn’t seem like a big deal if I don’t. I’ll like who I like, I guess?"

James gazes at him impassively for a few moments. “Yea, ‘spose that’s right,” he concedes finally, though a hint of confusion lingers on his face as he turns away.

In the few moments of silence that follow, Scorpius gradually realizates that while they had been observing the glass terrarium, James had moved rather close. Had he become so used to James’s presence that this no longer fazed him 

_Can’t you think of any hot, rich young man who’s suddenly taken a sudden interest in you? Anyone who you don’t really notice, but then when you look up, he’s always around, watching you?_

_Maybe I just like blonds._

Scorpius darts a quick, sideways glance at James’s handsome profile and swallows thickly.

“Say, James,” he ventures hesitantly. “You wouldn’t happen to know...” He trails off, uncertain where how he wants to craft his question.

"Wouldn't happen to know what?" James asks, snapping out of his reverie and turning to Scorpius with a friendly smile.

Scorpius shakes his head quickly, "No, nothing.” An unnatural, forced chuckle. “Er...I meant to ask, how are you and Eleanor?"  
  
The question seems to throw James off-kilter. He takes a step back and his expression closes off a bit. His tone is more clipped than usual when he replies, "We’re all right. "  
  
"So ... you haven't told her?"  
  
James looks sharply at Scorpius. “What do you mean? What’s there to tell?” he asks flatly. “We’re dating.”

Scorpius starts at the sudden chill in James’s voice. "Oh, I didn’t mean anything,” he begins to explain, stuttering. “Well, I mean, that's good then. That you guys are—that you guys are doing well.” He averts his sight, allowing tendrils of his fair hair to obscure his stinging eyes. He tries not to feel disappointed at this different James that occasionally surfaces.

_You don’t_ know _him, Scorpiu_

Albus always knows when best to come back and haunt him.

 

 

  
Their conversation comes to a sudden and uncomfortable stand still. Unable to withstand James’s cold, challenging stare, Scorpius turns away from the display shelves and walks back to what he had been working on before he had been interrupted by the gift’s delivery, hoping the miserable mood will dispel in time. He’s surprised when James slowly meanders after him instead of returning to his studies; James’s scrutiny makes him feel as if he’s on pins and needles.

Abruptly, James asks: “What is it you’re trying to do?”

“What? I’m not trying to—oh, you mean, what I am working on now? 

“Yes,” says James with a not-quite-there laugh. “What else could I mean?”

Scorpius smiles hesitantly and begins to explain. He’s decorating the newly cut pine trees that would soon line the Great Hall for the holidays. Already, they’re alit with small candles that flicker with multi-colored flames, and a variety of ornaments hang from the prickly branches. He’s just adding some additional charms now to make the trees more fun. With that said, Scorpius focuses his attention on the miniature glass animals that glisten against the green and whispers the appropriate spell as he flicks his wrist.

The animals simultaneously drop to the ground and shatter to pieces. Scorpius stares at the mess, aghast. A moment of shocked silence passes before a half stifled laugh escapes from James’s throat. 

Scorpius whips towards James and sends him a swift glare. “Don’t you dare laugh, Potter.” 

“Oh, it’s Potter now, is it?” James teases, amusement dancing in his soft brown eyes. “Anyway, it’s really not my fault that you’re god awful at Charms, Scorp.”

The feeling of discomfort begins to subside with James’s return to good humor and a sense of relief washes over Scorpius. He wonders sometimes, deep down, if this isn’t just a temporary resolution to a longstanding issue, these mood swings of James’s. But as always, he lets it slide. This is the real James, isn’t it?

"Oh go study for your N.E.W.T.s," Scorpius grumbles, though without real ire, as he waves his wand to banish the shards.  
  
James stops him with a gentle touch on his arm. "Here, let me try," he says, smoothly sliding Scorpius's wand from his pale, long fingers. Confused by the sudden motion, Scorpius watches with slow blinks as James confidently chants a spell that Scorpius only vaguely remembers. The glass shards repair themselves to perfect condition and retreat to their original spots on the baby evergreen. Another flick of his strong wrist and the sparkling glass animals take to life, moving their stubby clear legs in a charming little dance.  
  
"Not bad, huh?" James asks with a grin.  
  
Scorpius studies the dancing ornaments with some astonishment. “That’s brilliant, James! How’d you do it so easily?”  
  
“Scorp, we learned this years ago! It’s elementary, really. I’m surprised you still have trouble with it.”

Scorpius rolls his eyes and reclaims his wand from a now laughing James. “I had better things to do than learn these useless spells.”

“Oh? Like memorizing strange folklore about the Pacific islands?”

Scorpius fights the embarrassment that threatens to show on his face and tilts his chin up proudly. “Yes, that’s right.”

James laughs. “All right, then. Would you like some help with these spells that are so clearly beneath you, o great one? I’ll go get my wand, shall I?”

“...I guess that’s fine.” The assent is given with a humorous, long-suffering sigh.

 

 

 

 

When they walk back towards the Great Hall later that evening, Scorpius feels a mild buzz of contentment. The afternoon had passed easily after that uncomfortable conversation about Eleanor, and the trees were almost finished, thanks to James. Scorpius wears a relaxed smile on his face as he half skips through the field with James ambling just behind him.

“Hey Scorp,” James calls out as they begin to approach the castle. 

Scorpius slows and saunters amiably beside the older boy.

James glances at him uneasily and takes a deep breath. “Look, I’m...I’m sorry, about earlier today. I get a bit—I mean, I’m not very good at expressing myself sometimes. And I haven’t had many real friends, to be honest. I’m sorry if I upset you.”

Scorpius blinks in surprise at the unexpected confession. He could only muster a small _oh_ in response.

“Are we all right?” James asks apprehensively. “I understand if you—I know I’m not—I haven’t been—It’s been stressful—”

“No, of course we’re all right!” Scorpius rushes to assure.

“I’m glad.” James lets out a smile of relief. “I’d hate to lose my best mate over some silly girlfriend business.” 

Scorpius might have felt concern over the last part of that declaration had he not been so startled by the first part. “Best mate? Me?"

“Well, yeah. I can’t think of anyone else I’ve spent so much time with lately, can you?” James speaks with a light, amused tone, but his eyes are serious and probing.  “Is that okay?”

“Of course!” Scorpius replies quickly. A strange sense of triumphant giddiness balloons in his chest, despite that he had long stopped worshipping James. It seemed somehow extraordinary that the supremely cooler older student, the one that everyone adores, the one who’s ignored his presence for years, would suddenly grow to consider him...a friend? “I-I think of you as a friend too.”

James smiles enigmatically. “I know.”

Scorpius must have looked sufficiently taken aback that James adds: “Your wand told me. I felt that it trusted me.”

Later, when he’s thought more carefully about the exchange, Scorpius would wonder if perhaps James had been testing him all along. But at the moment, he’s too happy—happy that James had apologized, properly for once; happy that James thinks of him as a friend—far too happy to think such cynical thoughts.

 

 

 

~*~

 

 

It’s a few days later that Scorpius has a substantial run-in with James outside their usual interactions in the greenhouse. Hogwarts’ halls had grown chilly by then—early December—and a few shivers run through Scorpius’s body as he descends into the cold dungeons for afternoon Potions. Emily walks beside him, complaining about vehemently about Rose Weasley. Scorpius half listens; Emily’s vendetta against Rose goes far back and he’s long learned to tune to her out.

 

“She’s just such a know-it-all,” the girl fumes, stomping her feet louder in emphasis. “And she’s such a bitch towards Eleanor.”

 

“Eleanor Moore?” Scorpius asks, suddenly curious.

 

“Yeah, that one dating James, you know? Rose has such a blatant crush on James, and it’s so _wrong_. I mean, they’re cousins! Anyway, she takes it all out on Eleanor and tries so hard to make her look stupid. And Eleanor’s too nice to call her out on it, but it’s awful to watch. Ugh, I _hate_ her.”

 

Scorpius nods along sympathetically. Everyone knows Rose Weasley is something of a terror who rarely gives up what she wants. She is in many ways an odd transmutation of her mother, who, though similarly assiduous, lacks the ruthlessness that is so abundant in the daughter.

 

“And James,” Emily continues, her nose flaring in distaste. “James Potter is _the worst_.”

 

Scorpius’s eyes widen in surprise. It’s not often that one hears such things said about James Potter.

 

“It’s just that he’s so unbelievably _cold_ towards her, Eleanor that is. He never says anything to Rose, even though he clearly sees her bullying Eleanor. He just laughs it off as if it were all just a joke! You’d think he didn’t care about her at all.”

 

Emily turns to Scorpius expectantly after she finishes her tirade. He offers her a nervous smile, hoping it comes across just clueless enough. In an attempt to evade, he comments,  “Didn’t know you were such good friends with Eleanor.”

 

Emily’s eyes narrow. “Eleanor’s friends with everyone. She’s the nicest person at Hogwarts. You’d know if you didn’t hide in the greenhouse every day. But anyway, that’s _not_ the point. What do you think about James Potter?” Her demanding voice bounces off the stone walls and the question reverberates.

 

Before Scorpius has a chance to answer, an amused voice cuts in, “Yes, Scorp, what _do_ you think about James Potter?”

 

Scorpius starts when he sees James appear from around the sharp corner with a group of Gryffindor friends in tow. He wonders how much James has heard. From the look on Emily’s face and the way she’s stiffened, he knows she’s thinking the same.

 

James is smiling though, so perhaps he hadn’t heard much. After all, Emily had been ranting in hushed whispers up until the last part precisely so that the students nearby couldn’t listen in on their conversation.

 

Scorpius’s tense smile grows steadily more forced. “Hullo, James. Didn’t see you coming this way.”

 

“Gryffindor just had Potions,” he explains.

 

His friend—John Seymore?—laughs boisterously and says, with an underlying hint of spite, “Well, Malfoy? What do you think of my mate James here? We’re all _dying_ to know.”

 

Scorpius bites his lower lips nervously under the curious, watchful eyes of students milling around them, hoping to eavesdrop on what appears to be a salacious exchange. He hears whispers and snickers emanate from the crowd and he begins to grow anxious. The last thing he wants is to cause a scene. With worried blue eyes, he peers beseechingly at James.

 

Before anyone could say a thing more, James chuckles and reaches over to give him a pat on the shoulder. “Oh don’t bully him, John,” he admonishes his friend. Then to Scorpius, he says in an oddly gentle tone, “I was only teasing. You’d better go if you don’t want to be late. Slughorn’s in one of his moods.” He finishes with a conspiratorial roll of his eyes and one of his bright, easy smiles.

 

“I was only teasing too! You’re no fun at all, Potter,” John whines. But he obligingly follows, as do the rest of their group. The crowd disperses, disappointed.

 

Scorpius breathes a sigh of relief. He bids James a hurried goodbye and quickly tugs Emily down the remaining steps.

 

“Come on, Em. What are you doing? Stop turning your head,” he whispers furiously.

 

Emily ignores him and takes one more glance at the departing Gryffindors.

 

“Scorpius, you and James...?”

 

“What?”

 

“You’re friends?”

 

Scorpius walks faster. “James is friends with everyone,” he says tightly, throwing Emily’s words back at her.

 

She doesn’t seem to take notice; rather, she continues to looking at him with a thoughtful frown. “No, but I thought after second year, he stopped caring...but he helped you out just now, didn’t he?”

 

“He helps lots of people.”

 

“No, but he doesn’t,” Emily insists. “He didn’t even _talk_ to you for years! And he definitely doesn’t help Eleanor when his friends start in on her, even when they’re just joking. Why would he go out of his way—and the way he spoke to you just now—he sounded so much nicer than—and how he smiled—and he kept looking back at you just now, do you know?”

 

“Emily, you’re incoherent. James’s a nice guy, that’s all. Come on, we’ll be late.”

 

Emily looks unconvinced, but she drops the subject and allows herself to be pulled along. They walk the rest of the way in silence, with Emily pondering the strange exchange with James Potter and Scorpius pondering Emily’s strange pronouncements.

 

In fact, Scorpius can still feel traces of James’s warm touch on his shoulder. Emily’s jumbled observations about James bob through his mind. He ducks his head and hopes that no one can see how flustered he must surely look.

 

 

~*~

 

 

 

“—Who can tell me the properties of mottled-beetle-grass? Perhaps,” says Slughorn, his beady zeroing in on the zoned out face half hidden by a mass of yellow hair. “Yes, Mr. Malfoy, perhaps _you_ could enlighten us?”

 

Scorpius’s unfocused eyes—his mind dwells interminably on the encounter with James just now—blink to attention, not so much from Slughorn as from Ernie’s well-placed jab to the side of his rib. Unfortunately, he lets out a pained yelp, and the class—a mixture of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws--erupts into laughs. He blushes in embarrassment and ducks his head further, timidly asking for a repeat of the question.

 

Slughorn raises a brow and lets out a sigh. “Professor Longbottom assured me just the other day that you’re an absolute genius when it comes to plants, but I...I have my _doubts_ , shall we say, about you and the characterization of ‘genius.’ Now, the properties of mottled-beetle-grass, if you please, Mr. Malfoy.”

 

Scorpius chuckles dryly as the class giggles. But he knows Slughorn means no harm. In fact, he rather suspects that the aging professor’s developed something of a soft spot for him and is secretly amused by his utter incompetence at Potions.

 

“Er, Mottled-beetle-grass, Sir, has... anesthetic effects, I believe. It’s a very effective ingredient for numbing pain, and it’s especially notable because it not only numbs but simultaneously stabilizes injuries so that wounds momentarily stop progressing. ” Scorpius offers after the laughs die down.

 

Slughorn nods approvingly, but presses: “ _And_?”

 

“And?” Scorpius scours his brain before settling on, “Oh! And it has long-term side effects—prolonged drowsiness, nightmares, even comas or brain damage, I believe.”

 

“Very good, Mr. Malfoy. Today, we’ll be making a potion that neutralizes the ill-effects of the grass so that only its numbing and healing properties remain—”

 

“—That’s impossible,” Scorpius blurts.

 

Slughorn fashions his beady eyes on Scorpius: “Oh?”

 

“I mean, it’s never been done, I don’t think,” he stammers. “That’s why it isn’t really used, even though it has such powerful medicinal effects.”

 

“You surprise me, Mr. Malfoy. But that is essentially correct. It’s never been done...until now. A young, enterprising Potions student on the Continent has recently developed a new formulation that achieves this desired effect. It’s a complete break through in the field, one might say, and he’s only your age. Quite impressive. And in fact, some of you might know this young wizard. He used to attend our school, you know, before he was driven away under a set of... _special_ circumstances,” Slughorn pauses here to glance meaningfully at Scorpius.  “He is the younger Potter boy—Albus.”

 

The students—for they all knew of Albus Potter even if they had not known him personally—breathe in a strange collective gasp. Slughorn smiles at the effect of his pronouncement. Scorpius’s heart thumps wildly.

 

 

 

 

 

When Slughorn asks the students to pair up, Scorpius is still thinking about Albus.

_So that’s what he’s been up to_.

 

It’s a strange feeling, to suddenly hear about the life of a good friend from someone else. And for the first time in awhile, Scorpius wonders why Albus never wrote back. He used to think about this all the time, back when he was still consumed by guilt and worry. Then, he forced himself not to think about it because he was so angry. And finally, he stopped thinking about it altogether because he had given up. He’d always assumed that Albus had his reasons—perhaps he was still upset, or he was busy, maybe he had just forgotten.

 

Scorpius is happy that Al is well; this alleviates some of his guilt even. But the thought also sparks more questions: does Al remember him from time to time? Has Al stopped begrudging him? And if he were to write again, would Albus respond now, now that they are older and now that they’ve put their pasts behind them? Or perhaps, now that Albus is back in the public eye, he might have a chance at finding him and visiting him and—who knows? He knows it’s silly—they barely knew each other to begin with, and now it’s been years—but part of him yearns for closure, needs to _know_...

 

He feels the urge to ask Slughorn more and is internally debating the merits of this impulse when he feels someone tap him on the shoulder. Startled, he turns to find Edmund Cranmer standing behind him, smiling shyly.

 

“Hey Scorpius,” says the Ravenclaw, “I was wondering, do you want to be partners?”

 

Scorpius stares, surprised. He’s only spoken with Edmund a few times, and even then, it was only small talk in the corridors. From what he knew of the other boy, Edmund was of the unassuming, soft-spoken kind despite his privileged background and good looks. But they were hardly close enough for Edmund to want to partner with him in Potions.

 

Scorpius is saved from having to reply by Ernie, who declares, “Sorry Cranmer, Scorpius is working with me.”

 

Edmund looks disappointed at this and glances questioningly at Scorpius for confirmation. Scorpius smiles in apology.

 

“Well, are you free after this?” the sandy-haired boy tries. “Maybe we could—”

 

“Cranmer,” Ernie interrupts pointedly, “You’re nice and all, but I don’t think Scorpius is interested.”

 

“Oh,” says Edmund. He looks even more crestfallen than before. Scorpius feels rather terrible about it and wants to say something, but Ernie’s already whisking him away to get ingredients. He only just manages to get out a quick _sorry_ , to which Edmund responds with a forced smile.

 

“Scorpius, you don’t want to _encourage_ that,” Ernie cautions, when they’re out of earshot.

 

“Encourage what?”

 

“His _feelings_ , obviously. Are you really so clueless?” Exasperated now, he adds, “Look, I know we joke about it all the time, and Edmund is fine and all, but if you ask me, it’s just not right.”

 

Scorpius blinks, puzzled. “Wait, what feelings? And what’s not right?”

 

Ernie shrugs uncomfortably. “He likes you. It’s no secret. Jon’s been telling you for weeks.”

 

The entire statement takes Scorpius by surprise. “Wait, what do you mean he _likes_ me? I thought that _was_ the joke! Are you saying it’s real then?”

 

“ _Yes_! For Merlin’s sake, you’re completely—okay, whatever. Anyway, as I was saying, it isn’t right...two blokes, that is. It’s weird.”

 

“It is?  But you and Jonathan always... I mean, people don’t _really_ mind, do they? It’s not so uncommon anymore—”

 

“No, it is. Well, I mean, it’s not unheard of, and it’s not like I’m against these people or anything, and like I said, Edmund’s a nice bloke. But still, it’s just...wait, hang on, you’re not interested, are you?” Ernie asks.

 

Unbidden, James Potter’s grinning face flashes through Scorpius’s mind again. A ball of anxiety forms at the pit of his stomach and he hesitantly shakes his head no. Ernie looks relieved and gives him a friendly thump on the back.

 

“Good. Had me worried there. Now, do you want to cut the grass?”

 

 

 

 

 

The anxiety gnaws at him throughout the day. His thoughts vacillate between Edmund, James, and Al, and his emotions swing from irrepressible excitement—at becoming friends with James and hearing about Al—to deep-felt discomfort, which he guesses has to do with Ernie’s harsh words, but he can’t quite explain why.

 

_I’m not...am I?_

 

He’s momentarily relieved of this stress only when Professor Longbottom summons him to finish decorations in the Great Hall. He hurriedly leaves his friends, who talk incessantly about Al, breaking only to giggle about Edmund’s timid and failed courtship.

 

The Great Hall is peaceful before dinner and almost completely empty. Only a few students pass through every now and then. Scorpius supervises a few house elves and helps put up the trees, hang the wreathes, and add a charm here or there. He does so absently, thoughts still working their way through the day’s events. The more he thinks, the more restless he begins to feel.

 

Perhaps that’s why he’s not entirely enthused when James Potter makes his second appearance of the day.

 

“Ah, here’s where you’ve been hiding. Been looking for you—missed you at the greenhouse,” James remarks lightly as he ambles up where Scorpius is hanging some tinsel.

 

“Yes, last minute task from Professor Longbottom. It’s already December, so he thought we’d better get everything ready.”

 

“Can I help?”

 

Scorpius takes an uneasy step back as James moves closer. He says quickly, “No it’s fine. I’ve got it. I’m sure you have better things to do than—like, don’t you have to study for your N.E.W.T.s?”

 

James frowns slightly and his eyes narrow in scrutiny. “You’re not trying to avoid me, are you? Is it about this morning?”

 

The words immediately conjure to mind James’s gentle touch on his shoulder; Scorpius takes another step back and tries his best to sound confused. “This morning? No, I don’t even—”

 

“Look, I didn’t mean to put you in a tough spot. I really was just teasing!” James explains insistently. “I hope you aren’t angry about it. John can be a bit much sometimes, but he’s a good man.”

 

“Oh, _that_...no, I’m not upset or anything. It’s just-I thought you’d have work...” But already, he feels himself softening under James’s earnest, imploring gaze. When has he been able to resist that look from _anyone_ ,least of all from James Potter?“If you’re free, then of course I’d love—”   

 

“Great! What can I do?

 

Scorpius dons a weak smile.

 

 

 

 

 

Their collaboration begins on an awkward note when Scorpius makes the mistake of asking about Albus.

 

“What about Al?” James responds flatly.

 

“It’s just that we made one of his potions today. I haven’t heard from him at all so I was a bit surprised when his name came up. And then I thought, maybe you could tell me more...” Scorpius can already feel the irritation build in James—he’s become oddly good at reading the other boy’s moods. And maybe he’s always intuited that Albus would be a tense topic to take up with James, though he’d been hoping that the two brothers have mellowed out over the years. He’s never taken up the subject before—wisely, it would seem—but Albus was on his mind today, and he couldn’t stop himself from blurting it out.

 

“Huh. Well, to be honest, I don’t know much either. He’s been roaming around Europe, so we hardly see him. He barely even comes home for the holidays if he can help it,” James says with a careless shrug, as if he were talking about some stranger as opposed to his own brother. “Sometimes Dad goes to visit...well, Dad and Al have always had a special connection.” A small frown, followed by a quick recovery. “But I don’t think Al cares to see the rest of us.”

 

Scorpius utters a quiet _I see_ , and tries to think of something else to say. Fortunately, James appears to be in one of his better moods today and he saves Scorpius from the trouble. “Anyway, enough about Al—can’t tell you much anyway. You know, the funniest thing happened to me today. . . ”

 

And then it gets easier. James tells his funny pastiche of a story and cracks a few mindless jokes. They chat about the impending quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. They poke fun at a few professor mishaps. Scorpius relaxes enough to laugh and as the minutes pass, he begins to lower his guard. It’s all nonsense, he tells himself. It’s not as if he _likes_ James, or that James likes _him_. They were just _friends_ and he should stop worrying, because there’s _nothing_ going on, and Ernie can go to hell for all he cares.

 

Of course, there were a few moments of ambiguity: James playfully ruffling his hair after he messes up a spell; James standing so close behind him to help him hang up a wreath that his breath grazes Scorpius’s ear; James catching him when he almost falls off the short latter to place the last gold star atop the biggest tree. But it’s all completely normal—just what guy friends do...

 

_But is it?_

 

Scorpius’s face reddens anyway when James’s hold on him lingers for a second too long. Even beneath the wool jumper he wears, he can feel the heat of James’s calloused hands. And James’s face, it’s much too close. He quickly scrambles away from the older boy’s arms and inwardly curses himself for always landing in these stupid situations, literally. “James, I told you we should just use magic!” he grumbles.

 

James grins cheekily and his whole expression glows with a satisfaction that Scorpius can’t even begin to understand.  “But what’s Christmas without the muggle touch, Scorp? Don’t be such a spoilsport.”

 

Scorpius purses his lips, hoping the frustrated look helps distract from his embarrassment. “Well, we’re done now,” he says, hoping his racing heart calms soon. “Should we go—”

 

“No, hang on,” James says. He motions for Scorpius to look up, which Scorpius does to his own immediate regret. Which _bastard_ suggested floating mistletoe in the Great Hall? Oh, that’s right. Scorpius himself. Thought it’d be a funny joke to play on the professors or unsuspecting students. Well, that teaches him.

 

With a nervous chuckle, he stealthily attempts to remove himself from the ambit of the floating sprig. “Ha, yeah, thought it’d be funny. Wasn’t supposed to make an appearance yet though. Ha ha. What do you know? Anyway, shall we go now...”

 

James watches him carefully, lips quirked upward. But it’s not his usual half smile of boredom. No, definitely more of a smirk. And there’s a strange air of confidence about the smirk, like a predator who’s finally backed a tiny animal into and corner and about to—Scorpius frowns. Wait a minute, he thinks, would that make me the small animal? Because that would be ridiculous—

 

“Scorp!” James cries, almost laughing. “Are you really spacing out on me right now? Anyway, don’t run away. We have to observe tradition!”

 

“Tradition?” Scorpius repeats dumbly, staring into James’s twinkling eyes. Something about this James, this playfully assertive James, renders Scorpius immobile. He can only watch numbly as the taller boy leans down closer, and closer still, until their faces are only centimeters apart, and James’s hot breath ghosts across his burning face. Scorpius squeezes his eyes shut; he can feel James closing the distance.

 

Then, with lips hovering right beside his left ear, James whispers, “Just kidding.”

 

Scorpius blinks. The mistletoe flutters away. James is already standing at arm’s length again, an unreadable smile curved on his handsome face. Students begin to meander in for dinner. Everything’s returned to normal and it’s as if he’s awakened from a dream that left but a trace of itself—his speeding heart.

 

 

                                                                                    

~*~

 

 

 

Scorpius thinks he can see James’s face in his finished mottled-beetle-grass brew. But that isn’t a surprise; he been seeing James everywhere these past thirty some hours. He isn’t granted reprieve even in sleep. If his mind weren’t so busy replaying that teasing whisper, he might have felt frustration.

 

Ernie prods him: “Scorpius, you okay there mate? Slughorn’s coming around.”

 

“Huh?”

 

Ernie shakes his head ruefully at Scorpius’s blank stare. Behind them, Emily snickers. “Maybe he’s thinking about dear _Edmund_ ,” she whispers in a fit of giggles.

 

_If only_.

 

Slughorn swirls his wand in their cauldron and clucks disapprovingly. “A bit too strong. Though I suppose not too bad for a potion brewed by Mr. Malfoy. Take care not to breathe it in when you go to discard it; it might knock you out.”

 

Ernie lets out a relieved _phew_ after Slughorn moves on. “Well Scorpius, looks like we might pass Potions after all.”

 

Scorpius nods absently and picks up the cauldron. “I’ll go pour it out, then?”

 

“Sure. But are sure you’re okay? You look kind of...out of it.”

 

“I’m fine,” he says quickly and shuffles away to the sinks. In his vacant state, he barely registers Edmund Cranmer, who gives him a shy nod in passing. It’s only after moment’s pause that he smiles back. He doesn’t notice Edmund blush.

 

With a tired yawn, he rinses out the pot, making sure to inspect the surface closely for residue. Slughorn has yelled at him one too many times about this; it apparently tampers with the next brew. As he pokes his head close, he catches a faint whiff of something sweet. A strangely familiar scent, though he can’t quite place it. Thinking nothing of it, he gives the cauldron another good scrub and rejoins his friends.

 

They all totter along to the Great Hall for lunch. To his chagrin, Scorpius begins to feel increasingly listless, even bordering on faint. The chatter of the hordes of students buzz unpleasantly in his ears. Twice, he almost trips over his own feet. Various friends express concern, but he waves them away.

 

As he ascends the last flight of stairs that lead to the ground floor, he sees James’s face again. In fact, not just his face, but also his tall sturdy body and his fashionably worn bookbag; maybe he even hears his voice. Scorpius wonders briefly if this might not be the real James?

 

Only briefly, because a moment later, he loses all feeling and falls back as the world goes dark.

 

 

 

~*~

 

 

Scorpius can’t see much when he opens his eyes again. After a moment of panic, he realizes that it’s because the room is dark, lit only by the small light of a weak lamp. He takes a look around the room with blurry vision and comes to the gradual realization that he’s in the hospital wing. He tries to sit up.

 

“Whoa, hold on there,” says a voice to his left. It’s scratchy, as if the speaker had just woken. A hand steadies Scorpius’s aching body and gently glides him back towards the pillows.

 

“James?” Scorpius whispers. It’s all he can manage.

 

James’s tired face pops into view; he wears a worried smile. “Hey. It’s me. Are you feeling all right? Can you move your head? Should I call Madam Pomfrey? She’s gone to sleep, but I’m sure she’ll want to know you’re up?”

 

“What time is it?” Scorpius croaks, ignoring the string of questions.

 

“Not sure...late?” A quick _tempus_ tells them it’s one in the morning. “Can you move at all?”

 

“Yeah, just hurts a bit.”

 

“Can imagine,” says James with a worried frown. “You fell down quite a few flights of stairs. Really scared everyone.”

 

“Hmm,” Scorpius hums quietly, “It’s starting to come back to me. Must’ve been the potion.”

 

“What potion?”

 

“That numbing potion your dear brother invented,” he says flatly.

 

James chuckles, almost despite himself. “Figures. Maybe it’s his stealthy way of getting back at you for all those years ago.”

 

“Yes, very Slytherin of him.” Scorpius allows himself a wry smile through the pain.

 

A slight lull passes, during which Scorpius finds that he can move his neck after all. He peers to his left and sees that James is sitting on a sofa-like chair. His hair is mussed and he’s still wearing his day clothes, though he’s taken off his jumper—the hospital wing is warm—so he sits in a crumpled white shirt. A thought flits through Scorpius’s mind: the disheveled look rather suits him. He quickly turns away, stifling a hiss of pain as his neck protests.

 

“Have you been here all day?” he asks after a pause.

 

“Mmm. No, I came after dinner, actually. Your friends were here earlier. I was worried because they said you hadn’t woken yet. Must’ve somehow fallen asleep here.” James stretches as he says this.

 

“You must be tired then! Go back and sleep. I’m all right.”

 

James looks doubtful. “Oh, I don’t know. Your friend—Ernie is it?—told me you’ve been wobbly all day. Maybe I’d best stay, just for the night you know. Or no, I should go get Madam Pomfrey? Though she’s gone to sleep. Anyway, I can’t just leave you alone.”

 

Scorpius’s lips curve into a small smile as he observes James’s obvious concern. It makes him feel warm inside and and on an impulse, he says, “Stay then.”

 

The sudden concession seems to startle James, but he smiles and nods. “Do you need anything? Water?”

 

“No, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

 

James laughs as he leans back more comfortably in his large chair. “That’s a tall order,” he muses in a languid, sleepy voice. “Seems like that’s all I do these days.”

 

“What do you mean?” Scorpius asks, amused.

 

“I don’t even know,” replies James with a soft chuckle. “But I just can’t seem to...leave you alone anymore.”

 

And there it goes again—that hammering heart and the strange feeling of giddiness. Scorpius slides deeper under his covers in an attempt to hide his face.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he mumbles.

 

“Don’t you, though?”

 

“No. You left me alone well enough for five or so years,” protests Scorpius, though without any real bitterness.

 

James sighs. “I know. And I wish I—well, who can say why? But I see you these days and I just can’t...help myself...”

 

Scorpius’s face warms. He waits. With each passing second, the scene feels increasingly surreal. But James says no more and soon, his breaths even out as he slips back to sleep. Scorpius wishes he could do the same, but he spends some time tossing and turning in a state of inexplicable elation before he finally dozes off.

 

 

 

 

Scorpius is awakened by the pale winter morning light that filters into the room. He opens just his eyes just as James reaches over to tuck his arm back into the blankets. Blue eyes meets brown in a frozen stare. Then, with a faint but noticeable blush on his freckled face, James leaps back.

 

“Good morning,” says James as he clears his throat. “How are you feeling?”

 

Scorpius moves his arm a bit and notes with relief that it doesn’t hurt as much anymore. Whatever Madam Pomfrey did for him, it must have set things right.

 

“Better,” he replies with a happy smile. Then, as he recalls their conversation from the previous evening, he begins to feel a bit shy. “Shouldn’t you be off to class? No need to keep me company anymore.”

 

“It’s Saturday, Scorp.”

 

“Oh, I completely forgot! Well, I...maybe I should get up. Do you think—where’s Madam Pomfrey, by the way? I think I’m well enough to be discharged.”

 

“She’s off getting some breakfast. But are you sure? Maybe it’d better if you—”

 

A quiet knock interrupts their harried exchange. Moments later and to Scorpius’s utter surprise, Edmund Cranmer pops in. The Ravenclaw wears his usual shy look, which though somewhat incongruous with his large frame, is nevertheless endearing in its own way.

 

“Hullo, Scorpius,” he says in his low, quiet voice. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Much better!” Scorpius still feels guilty when he thinks about how he and his friends have treated Edmund these past few days; he tries to make up for it by looking extra friendly. “Thanks for checking in on me.”

 

Edmund blushes lightly and offers Scorpius the plate of breakfast he’s carried in with him. “Didn’t see you at the breakfast table so I thought you’d still be here. Figured I might as well bring you some food, though I wasn’t sure you were awake. If you haven’t eaten, um, well, maybe you might like to –”

 

“Thanks Edmund! I was just starting to feel hungry. And this looks delicious—” Scorpius’s bright response is cut off mid-sentence by a sharp cough from James. Both boys swivel to look at the neglected Gryffindor, and Edmund appears especially confused and discomfited by his presence.

 

“Scorp,”—The nickname brings a small frown to Edmund’s face, which James acknowledges with a covert smirk—“Don’t you think it’s best to wait for Madam Pomfrey before you eat? She fed you some potions last night, so I’m not sure if it’s all right for you to eat anything yet. And to be honest, breakfast looks a bit greasy today...”

 

“Er...”

 

Edmund is quick to follow with: “No, he may be right. I’m sorry, I didn’t really think it through.”

 

“No, no, not your fault!” Scorpius says frantically. “I guess I...well, I don’t know. It probably won’t do any harm, don’t you think, James?”

 

James shrugs, but the implicit disapproval in the shrug is clear. The three boys come to an awkward pause. Scorpius stares at his plate of food, unsure whether he should eat it or not.

 

Thankfully, Madam Pomfrey chooses that moment to bustle in. She _tsks_ at the food and swiftly whisks it away— _no food yet, not after inhaling that grass_. Scorpius mouths _it’s okay_ to a guilty looking Edmund while James emanates with a silent but triumphant _I told you so_.

 

Scorpius is quickly drawn, however, to the girl who follows Madam Pomfrey: the girl with pale yellow hair and the bright blue eyes and who looks, Scorpius now realizes, just a little bit like himself. The thought disturbs him.

 

“Eleanor, what are you doing here?” James asks.

 

The girl glides to James and surreptitiously slips her arm into his. She says with a strained smile, “What do you mean? I’ve been looking for you all evening and just found out from Madam Pomfrey that you’ve been hiding here.”

 

“I haven’t been _hiding_ ,” James protests with pursed lips.

 

“Right, you’ve been looking after Scorpius, I hear?” She turns to Scorpius and studies him for a moment. He wonders if she also finds their similarity unsettling. “I don’t think we’ve officially met. I’m Eleanor.”

 

Scorpius realizes that she’s right. Despite having spent so much time with James these past few weeks, he hardly ever sees Eleanor except at a distance. In fact, in his mind, he’s almost come to view their relationship as something of a fraud or, at the very least, decidedly one-sided. To see them together like this, as a _real couple_ of sorts—even if only in appearance—jolts him unpleasantly.

 

“I’m fine. It’s nice to meet you.”

 

“Yes, likewise. Hope you’re feeling better.”

 

Though she speaks in an enthusiastically concerned voice, the words somehow sound perfunctory.

 

_Eleanor is friends with everyone!_

 

Perhaps he’s being too sensitive. To compensate, he offers Eleanor a quiet smile, which she returns briefly before she turns her attention back to James.

 

“Anyway, I was looking for you because I was wondering if you still wanted to go to Hogsmeade. Obviously, I understand if you have to spend time with Scorpius here—because that _is_ really important—but I just thought I’d remind you, since we were supposed to meet your mother.”

 

“Oh _fu_ —Mum!” James exclaims. “Yes, you’re right. I’d completely forgotten.” His eyes stray to Scorpius with a look of torn hesitation. “Scorpius, I—”

 

“Don’t worry about me, James! I’m perfectly fine!” Scorpius interrupts, though he begins to wonder if he is fine after all. “You go on. Seeing your mother’s much more important.”

 

“Yes, yes, go on, Mr. Potter,” Madam Pomfrey adds, already beginning to shoo him and Eleanor out the door. “I need to conduct some tests and, in any case, Mr. Malfoy needs his rest. Besides, nothing’s quite as important as making a good impression on the future in law.”

 

The old nurse winks conspiratorially at Eleanor, who blushes becomingly. James appears more disgruntled though. He shoots multiple looks of apology at Scorpius before he’s finally ushered out of the room.

 

But the apologetic looks do nothing for Scorpius. He feels a sort of pain that he’s never felt before—not a physical pain that can be traced to any part of his body, but one that nonetheless pierces him through and through.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Now, Mr. Cranmer, you watch him for a minute while I go fetch some things.”

 

Madam Pomfrey bustles out as quickly as she bustled in. Edmund stands awkwardly by Scorpius’s bedside now that they’re alone, but Scorpius barely notices. He stares out the window, where he can see James and Eleanor walking side by side with a group of friends. He wonders why he’s never noticed before—they look perfect next to each other.

 

“Do you...do you need anything, Scorp?” Edmund asks hesitantly.

 

The question pulls Scorpius out of his reverie. With a frown, he asks, “What did you say?”

 

“Er, if you need—”

 

“—Did you call me Scorp?”

 

“Oh! Sorry, do you not like that? It’s just—I heard just now—I mean, I’m sorry.”

 

Now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t really like the name _Scorp_. It’s always pleased him that his name was _Scorpius_ , something different and meaningful, something that matches the dignity of a Malfoy. But he only realizes how much he hates hearing someone call him Scorp now, now that it’s not coming from James Potter. This thought disconcerts him too.

 

“Scorpius?”

 

“No, it’s all right. I was just thinking,” Scorpius says absently. He suddenly wishes that Edmund would go away and that he could think alone and figure things out. Everything feels like a chaotic jumble right now. And his body still aches. He gently urges Edmund to go on with his Saturday.

 

But Edmund remains rooted to his spot. He scratches his nose shyly to stall for a moment, then says, “Look Scorpius, I actually wanted to speak to you.”

 

“Speak to _me?_ What for?”

 

Edmund takes a breath and declares, “I like you.”

 

“Oh!” A sense of dread unfurls in Scorpius. It’s not that he hadn’t expected this conversation, but he hardly wanted to have it _now_.

 

“I know I’ve been a bit dodgy about it,” Edmund continues nervously when he sees that Scorpius isn’t about to speak. “What with sending you those gifts as a secret admirer and whatnot, but I was scared, you know—”

 

“Gifts?”

 

“The ones that came at breakfast, you know? The chocolates and gloves and...those. I-they were from me.”

 

“From you...” Scorpius repeats mechanically. The dread grows, but now it’s mixed with disappointment and self-deprecation. To think that he was once presumptuous enough to suspect that the gifts were from . . . well. Laughable.

 

“Anyway, I was wondering—I mean I _like_ you—so do you think--that is, would you be interested in . . . trying? With me?” Edmund stammers this last query. He knows, actually, what Scorpius will say, and he already begins to don that crestfallen look that he wears so frequently these days. Nevertheless, hope springs eternal and he stares at Scorpius with shining, expectant eyes.

 

But Scorpius isn’t interested in _his_ eyes.

 

“Sorry,” Scorpius whispers. “I can’t-I don’t think I...sorry.”

 

“Ah.”

 

Silence descends, as there’s nothing left to say. Bitter depression always follows when a youthful heart’s been crushed, and in this case, the bitterness doubles.

 

 

 

~*~

 

 

 

Scorpius thinks he feels better by the time dinner rolls around. Or at least, he’s out of the hospital at last and can drown himself in the idle banter of his friends. He doesn’t tell them about Edmund—he’s not malicious like that, and he does feel sorry—in fact, he tries not think about Edmund at all.

 

He also tries not to think about James, but that plan quickly shatters before the evening’s over.

 

He sees him as soon as he turns the corner. James is standing against his wall with Eleanor on his arm and surrounded by his usual group of friends. He laughs coolly at something Rose Weasley says, though from the look on Eleanor’s face, she doesn’t find it as funny. Scorpius instinctively feels a sense of satisfaction at this before he reels himself back in shock.

 

_What have I become?_

 

Frustration sets in. He’s never felt these emotions before, these exhilarating ups and crushing downs. He wishes it would all stop, that he could return to life at the beginning of the semester, when James was just another student that he used to know, when all he had to worry about was whether his lilies would survive the week. None of this... _this._

 

James sees him. The laugh leaves his face and he’s just staring at Scorpius now with his soulful brown eyes. Scorpius senses that he’s about to call him before he opens his mouth; he feels a sudden bout of panic.

 

“Scorpius? Where are you going?” Jonathan calls frantically.

 

But Scorpius doesn’t hear him; he’s already walking away. Down the stairs, across the corridor, out the door. He moves almost blindly, guided only by the urgency, the _necessity_ , of getting away.

 

The outside is dark and cold. The December wind nips mercilessly at his just-recovered body and he hugs himself for warmth as he speeds up, pretending not to notice the footsteps that follow him. He’s almost reached the lake when someone grabs him by the wrist and pulls him to stop. No, not _someone_ —James. James whose face is flushed from exertion, whose breaths are ragged, who looks more worried than he’s ever seen before.

 

Scorpius tugs hard at his arm. “Let _go_.”

 

“No, where are you going? Why did you run? Scorpius, are you okay, what’s _wrong_?”

 

“Nothing!” Scorpius exclaims wildly. “And this has nothing to do with you. I just needed some air. Just _let_ _go_ , James Potter.”

 

James’s expression hardens and he tightens his hold against the struggling Scorpius. “Scorpius, what is this about? Is it the potion? Are you still—”

 

“ _No!_ ” Scorpius all but screams. He hates this—this isn’t him. He hasn’t raised his voice since he was a toddler, but he raises it now out of desperation. “Look, just go. Go back to Eleanor. You’ve made your choice, so stop trying to run away. Stop hurting her. Stop trying to use me as some sort of shield.”

 

James’s eyes widen. He’s surprised at where this conversation’s going, and it makes him uneasy. “What? What are you talking about? Scorp, I didn’t mean to—”

 

“—No, of course not,” Scorpius interrupts bitterly. “You never mean anything. It’s all just a _joke_ to you. I’m just a joke! Just silly little Scorp, right? The stupid Hufflepuff who doesn’t care that you’re actually terrible person, who forgives you for all the mean things you do, who doesn’t expect anything from you. God, I wish we had never became friends!”

 

“You don’t mean that,” James says, voice trembling.

 

Scorpius bites his lower lip. He’s right, of course—it’s too late to mean that. James Potter is here to stay, has now seared an indelible mark on Scorpius’s life. Or maybe he left his mark long ago, from that first time they met. Maybe he was always special. Maybe all of this was inevitable, in some grotesquely ironic way. Maybe he should stop struggling. His arm goes limp within James’s grasp.

 

It annoys him to feel tears prick at his eyes, threatening to fall. Why should he let James see his tears again? He lowers his face.

 

“Scorpius,” says James, voice gentle and filled with longing. “Tell me you don’t mean it.”

 

“...I don’t mean it...” he whispers brokenly as the first tear falls.

 

James places a finger under his chin and tilts his face up. He looks taken aback to see Scorpius’s tears and tries to wipe them away with his bare hands.

 

“Don’t cry,” James murmurs hoarsely. “Don’t you know it hurts me to see you cry? Don’t push me away. No one matters more than you.”

 

Scorpius stares up into James’s with tear-blurred vision. He’s put his arm around Scorpius’s waist and he draws him in as he leans forward again, closer and closer. But how will he end it this time?

 

Just teasing?

 

Just kidding?

 

We’re just best mates?

 

He feels James’s breath on his lips. A shiver runs through him and his eyes flutter shut instinctively.

 

James kisses him.

 

His lips are lightly chapped and they press against Scorpius’s gently, hesitantly, questioningly. Then harder, rougher. James nips and coaxes and probes; it’s as if he’s been long deprived and now that he’s finally allowed himself to give in, he won’t stop until he’s explored and claimed every part of Scorpius. He can’t stop.

 

Scorpius braces himself at first, his fist clenched tightly around a handful James’s sweater, half-pushing, half-pulling because he doesn’t know what he wants. His mind is empty but his heart feels so full, it might just burst.

 

Then, something snaps within him. He slowly releases his hold of the sweater and reaches up to encircle his arms around James’s neck, bringing him forward. He feels James’s arm around his waist tighten, drawing him closer still, until they’re pressed flush against each other and can feel the heat of each other’s bodies. Inexperienced but earnest, Scorpius parts his lips willingly and kisses back with all he’s got.

 

They kiss for an eternity before they part.

 

Breathing hard, Scorpius stares mindlessly into James’s beautiful face. It’s so close, he can count each freckle he wanted. Each eyelash even. Or each crinkle that form at corners of James’s eyes from his breathless grin.

 

There are still a million questions left. And maybe nothing’s been resolved.

 

But all Scorpius knows is that he’s never felt so happy as when James runs his calloused fingers through his blond hair and leans down to whisper, “It’s never been a joke with you, Scorpius. Never.”

 

Scorpius surrender. He lets himself relax into James’s warm embrace. He’ll think about the rest later.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where in the world is Albus Potter? Who even knows? J/k...he'll come back sooner or later ;) I've been away on vacation; hence the delayed update. But as always, I appreciate your comments and feedback...muah! <3


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